Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The upper reaches of Kaon were caked in thick smog. An opaque, veiny-arrangement that crawled around the sharp edges of catered skyscrapers in similar fashion to inner-complex circuitry. The beautiful, industrial architectures long ruined by the throes of battle. Broken iron beams poked through the dark gray clouds, having the air swirl loosely around them in organic patterns.

Soundwave often found himself staring down into the depths of saturated metal filings, wondering if there's ever to be a day that the smog will soon lift. A day that the iron-bar skeletons of abandoned skyscrapers will lay bare to the bright star that colors Cybertron’s surface. Kaon was once beautiful. Maybe not that of the shimmering beauty of Crystal City or the pristine lakes of the Pious Pools, but it was beautiful in its own right.

“Anything new?” Megatron called out towards the distracted lieutenant. His focus kept to the datapads scattered across his desk as he plainly jokes.

“Negative: it is the same.”

“That’ll change one day,” he tossed out empty words,” for now, we need to prioritize.”

Soundwave recognized the cue and pulled himself from his spot by the tall windows. He moved closed, yet at a fair distance, giving his commander the thin veil of privacy by keeping his optics off his reports. As if he wasn’t going to have to sort through them later for archival purposes.

Megatron shifted through many thin-glass datapads in search for a specific report. Soundwave reached a servo to assist, but quickly withdrawn it when he noticed this impulsive behavior. It was a common for Megatron to become so engrossed in his research that he often makes a mess of his organization. Precious time wasted organizing everything back into a clean stack.

“After that last battle, I’ve been thinking about our arsenal,” Megatron began as he pulled out the correct temporary datapad. “What were the losses again?” he asked with exasperation.

“Aerial forces: 29% loss. Ground forces: 47% loss. Defense systems: 32% damage. System barriers: 11% damage,” Soundwave listed off statistics like a teleprompter.

“Sounds like the numbers went up since the initial report.”

“Assets have been recalculated after the final report was sent in,” Soundwave informed.

There was a thick pause between them. Soundwave anticipated an order or a request in terms of financial management or resource allocation. All possibilities that he readied himself to execute at a moment's notice.

“I’ve decided to take the opportunity for negotiations with Crystal City,” Megatron laid one of the many datapads out towards Soundwave.

“Query: Crystal City is a neutral faction?” he asked with doubt that this would a favorable negotiation. He took the contract off the side of the table, stowing it under his arm to continue this conversation.

Megatron folded his arms over his chest,” yes, for now. I have no intention of swaying them to our side nor the other.”

A tilt of Soundwave’s helm as he awaited the rest of the explanation, unsure as to what the warlord had in mind. There was a curious air to his explanations, as if he was building up to something unsavory.

“I have plans of sending a couple of our own for a small visit. Dai Atlus has reached out to us for special negotiations that could procure us important assets. I have no expectation that he’ll sway sides, but this should be enough to expand our forces where need be.”

“And the necessary materials?”

“From them as well.”

A short, understanding nod as Soundwave found the directive. “Affirmative. I will begin preparations immediately.”

“-However, there is one more thing,” Megatron verbally stopped him.

“... Yes?”

“My servos are tied here for the meantime. I’m leaving directive up to much more capable servos.”

Soundwave raised an optic-brow, unsure what that meant. Megatron specified.

“I’m allowing Shockwave to lead negotiations in my stead.”

There was an obvious jerk in Soundwave’s throat. A sudden stop in his chassis in quiet disagreement. The other noticed his physical disinclination.

“He is well-versed in the field. That’s also his home-city, he has an advantage in their culture and politics better than anyone else in the upper command.”

“Suggestion: You don’t need to humble yourself.”

“That is not all, Soundwave,” Megatron’s tone lowered, a cautious wavelength as if he were carefully measuring the other’s patience.

News couldn’t get worse than this, so he listened, hoping that it would be in favor to him.

“As formalities go, I need him matched with a partner. Someone to stay with him at all times so he doesn’t get any ideas.”

Straight to denial. Soundwave played into ignorance, ignoring the shift of energy in the room. He continued with his first suggestion.

“Starscream: would be a capable fit. His scientist background grants him special liberties and respec-”

“No, Soundwave,” Megaton interrupted him,” we’ve decided that the better match would be you.”

Soundwave felt his plating go cold.

In the lower echelons of the brooding tower held Shockwave’s laboratory. A small private space away from the noise of turbines and machinery churning within the factories. An even more pleasant place to station himself far from upper command, keeping them arm’s length from him in tangible distance, save for the ever-intrusive comm link.

After recent excursions, his lab has been chocked full of discarded plating and armor, some leftover extremities, and all the likes. Presents from war that no longer served its intended purpose. All of it piling up in the corner, ready for any project.

Filing through all the bulky metal and fried circuitry, Shockwave could only move so fast with his one servo. Damus had long left to run drills with the other Phase Sixers, leaving Shockwave without assistance for the meantime. It left him to deal with idle work until the other could return in the morning.

Out of the corner of his optic, a dainty pair of hands grabbed the edge of a piece of sheet metal, pulling it aside before reaching in and grabbing more. A repeated gesture until it created a crater in the pile.

“You look like you needed the help,” a smirking voice cooed.

Shockwave looked up, optic half dimmed in minor annoyance,” what is it, Starscream.”

A little way off, the red seeker held scrap metal against his glossy-yellow cockpit. His blue arms wrapped around the tidy pile with his helm peeking over the edge of it.

“I wanted to help out. Y’know, since I hardly ever see you” he started in his usual ways.

Shockwave knew that wasn’t the case and didn’t feel like playing in his little game. “I’m always eager to have more capable servos,” he picked up a heavier, denser object, tossing it into the scrap pile in Starscream’s arms

A pitched yelp before the loud clashing and clatter of parts colliding with the floor. Starscream looked down with his face twisted in confusion, unsure what happened,” what the frag did you throw at me?!”

“Osimum,” he replied plainly,” I’m not going to ask again.”

There was a spark of curiosity, soon diminished after the hardening of Shockwave’s tone. Starscream grumbled and kicked away the mess on the ground. There was no fun with this guy.

“Lord Megatron has sent me to inform you of upcoming plans.”

“And this couldn’t be sent through a comm, why?”

Starscream grinned once again, cheekily little thing,” I- we felt it was better if this was given face-to-face.”

“I take it is not good news.”

“No, it’s great news. For you anyways,” Starscream fell back into Shockwave’s large office chair, sliding back with a grace, servos laced neatly over his knee. “We’re having a meeting with delegates in Crystal City. Megatron deemed you the better fit to discuss bargaining some resources from them. Maybe even acquire some of their ideas?”

The seeker tried selling this concept to Shockwave until he bit.

“And then what? You want me to lace what’s left of Crystal City with bombs and threaten them to join our Cause?” he tossed out random possibilities. Something dramatic that Starscream would like.

Although, Starscream continued to look smug, as if he was thinking too far off.

“.. Or am I, unfortunately, stuck with you when I go.”

Then he frowned, but kept his cocky attitude.

“You’d wish you were stuck with me,” he raised his wings in defense, dressing himself up in size,” instead you’re going with Soundwave.” He huffed.

“This sounds like an ill advised choice,” Shockwave disagreed with the notion.

“Not at all. He’s the best match. Think about it. You’re both so automated like those bulky computers in the command hub,” he noticed Shockwave’s latent bemusement and switched topics,” ...besides, I know you’re used to these half-baked dates with other politicians in Iacon. This would be the same.”

“Yes, I am. However, you are ignoring the glaring issue here.”

“I’m not ignoring it. I know you two have, uh, issues,” he tagged with air quotes,” but, it’s only a short visit. You don’t even have to do anything but obtain information. That’s basically painless.”

Shockwave tilted his head in such a way that suggested he was rolling his optics. “This is a foolish game for you and Megatron, isn’t it?”

“I mean, yes, but actually no,” Starscream leaned back, helm resting on the tip of his knuckle,” Megatron has only the investors in mind, but I do think the coincidence is funny.”

There was an aching temptation to throw another osmium cube into Starscream’s lap, watch as it dents up the armor he took so much pride in, but he sought refrain. The importance of bigger and better projects were on the line, a little date means nothing, even if he has to pretend with that little lap dog that bares his denta at him anytime he is nearby.

“Whatever he sees fit. Even if it’s an illogical ploy to stir trouble where it already burns,” Shockwave turned his attention away to continue fixing through the scrap for when Damus returns.

For the price of science, was it worth this much headache?

“Lord Megatron: Request: reconsider this arrangement,” Soundwave disputed.

“I’ve never seen you so adverse about anything,” Megatron sounded halfway surprised, yet amused. Not even in the Gladiator Pits did Megatron ever see Soundwave fight through such conflict.

“He is someone not to be trusted; out of reliable optics that long.”

“I know. That’s why I trust you to keep a watch on him,” the war-tank attempted to reason with him,” do you want to leave it up to Starscream?”

Soundwave pursed his lips together under his mask. One long stare at Megatron, struggling to keep his debates to himself. He was in no position to argue against sound reasoning.

“I didn’t think so.”

He tried to cope with the concept. Maybe it wouldn’t seem so bad.

Shockwave wasn’t truly terrible, however his intentions were extremely dubious. He worried that he would take his opportunity to snuff out Soundwave to put himself in a better position to overthrow Megatron. Or worse. With him hiding down in that lab of his all day, it bothered Soundwave having him out of sight. The painful possibility of him plotting something with his experiments.

“What is our assignment, then?” Soundwave inquired.

Finally on the same page, Megatron passed over notes that he’s taken for himself. A neat scrawling across a much thicker, personal datapad. His handwriting was always much nicer than one would anticipate. The long forgotten hobby of being a poetic linguist, his penmanship showcased his honest personality. Soundwave appreciated that discrete part of him.

“After you two get there, I want you two to stay for a couple weeks. Get what you can. Make sure Shockwave stays on topic and keep our politics out of it,” Megatron informed him.

Soundwave nodded,” it would be no problem.” Aside from the obvious.

“Everything will be ready for you tomorrow before departure. You both will leave at 600 hours on the Auxillary.”

The war-tank stood out of his chair, approaching his lieutenant. A large, weathered servo patted his shoulder with some sort of sympathy, squeezing the softer points of his boxy blue stereo-wedge.

“Try not to let it get to you,” Megatron tried to sympathize but Soundwave only tossed a withheld glower. A sharp glare over the thickness of his visor in the resident lighting.

“Affirmative. I won’t,” he took the gesture of camaraderie and left.

It was going to take longer than a short night’s rest to mentally prepare for this trip, but he made due with what little time he had.

Chapter Text

Sunrise broke over the horizon. Fresh rays shining through the dark blue shell of the night sky with its soft pink hues. Slits of light punctured between the half-open blinds into the depths of Soundwave’s hab, illuminating his rough frame as he worked in silence.

Long before sunrise, quiet sounds of scurrying and shuffling bothered the stillness in the upper command barracks. Soundwave forfeited rest for preparation during the night. Toiling around in his compact hab working through shelves of weaponry and essentials, searching for just enough to carry, but not too much to stow in the ship. He mostly sought mods to upgrade his person. The rest were basics such as spare energon, polish, and other necessities.

Down on the flight deck - in the early hours of dawn - the base was hardly lively. Guards were fastened around every important corner, watching for Autobot invaders or neutrals seeking refuge from the casualty. The rest of the bay was sectioned off with a large quantum engine, clothed by a thin piece of material, obscuring it from sight. Shockwave was rumored to be building a large interstellar ship with wild ideas that Cybertron was running out of time. Something, something, he hardly understood the jargon. As long as it kept him busy he’d tell himself.

Near the arc opening of the bay was a small ship. A sleek shuttle. Big enough for two larger bots and no more than that. It was one of the few ships afforded to them from the scraps of Polyhex with what little shanix they had to spare for it. Since the Decepticon army was mostly composed of flight-frames, seeking operable flight equipment was often lower priority.

The loading dock of the ship was obstructed by two large bots: a smaller, stockier indigo one with black threads dripping down his back and a taller, carbon-black one with broad triangular wings flaring proud from the edges of his chassis’ dorsal. The two were locked in idle conversation as they loaded cases into the ship. A mixture of scraping and quiet laughter echoed throughout the bay while they stowed away precious cargo. Their spirits high; unbothered with their early schedule.

Soundwave approached them with no intention of joining in, trying to slide by, so he can pack his luggage away in secrecy. Though no amount of casual stealth could avoid their keen audials. In broad turns, they tossed their glance over their shoulders at the sound. Noticing their superior, they promptly bowed their helms and acknowledged him.

“Commander Soundwave,” both muttered in unison. A practiced gesture that Soundwave often met with indifference.

“Damus, Black Shadow,” he nodded to both of them.

They continued their curtesy as Soundwave approached the lip of the shuttle. He half expected them to stay bowed, half expected them to wait off to the side until he was settled. Yet, not a single pede could come in contact with the drop-floor until a clawed servo dropped in front of him, stopping him.

“Allow me,” that smooth, honey-like voice spoke. The intelligence officer attempted to dismiss him before he felt his servo relieved of his luggage. He reached out to grab his bag back, but the other already stepped inside.

“Where do you want this?” Damus asked, voice muffled in the depths of the ship.

“I-”

“Put it near the back. Don’t mix it in with my equipment,” a flat-toned voice answered over Soundwave.

“...” Soundwave shut his mouth.

A bitter surge corroded over his spark hearing Shockwave’s voice. Even more so, throwing his stuff around like he owns it. His lack of consideration grinded Soundwave’s gears.

In moments, Damus excused himself from the ship. Whatever he did, at least it sounded like his items were safely put away. Not shoved under careless equipment. Back on the bay floor, both him and Black Shadow stood at attention while Shockwave walked towards the edge, giving them a final set of instructions.

“Everything is in the lab. It will be likely that my comm-link will be off due to previously stated reasons,” a sharp glare of his lense, as if he was flicking his gaze towards Soundwave,” anything else will need to be reserved for when I get back.”

Both of them nodded with a “yes sir”. There was a pause as Shockwave stared at them before returning to the ship. Whatever it was, Soundwave barely caught a glimpse of what it could have been. If he spent his whole trip analyzing every passing neuron in his complex, he’d never sleep. A shake of his helm before he boarded the ship, one final glance at the duo as well.

“Have a safe trip,” Black Shadow waved at him. The same denta-filled grin he always had.

“If you need anything, please comm us,” Damus chimed over the kickstart of the engines. Anything else said was flushed out by the rush of turbines.

A meek wave as the door shut Soundwave in. Hydraulic seals hissing into place while the shuttle prepared itself for launch. The interior rattled with the rumble of unused drivers mere meters beneath the alloy flooring. It felt cramped. Wavelengths bounced with high frequencies at a rapid pace, barely finding enough space to extend passage. Perhaps, it was only the haul. Soundwave turned around to view the rest of the ship, only to feel a miserable crawl up his nodular chord.

The interior of the ship was truly small.

From outward appearances, the shuttle was relatively modest already, but inside was worse. Luggage compartments pulled in the walls, leaving only a narrow pathway from the ejection door to the cockpit. Even the cockpit was pitiful. Two seats sectioned together, hugging just under the half-circle command console.

Shockwave sat himself to the left. His only servo clicking various switches and buttons to stabilize appropriate hover conditions. His clunky cannon-arm resting against the corner of the seat, barrel lodged into the seam where the curve of the wall met with the floor. His frame took up much of the space on the bench, leaving this tiny space for Soundwave to squeeze into.

There was no way. It wouldn’t be possible to fit both of them in there. Even if he could, he was less than willing to be in direct contact with… that.

Out of stubbornness, Soundwave held his servo on the back of the seat, choosing to stand instead. Busy servo paused its routine as the white antennas on Shockwave’s helm clicked backwards in annoyance.

“Sit down, I need you to cover the controls,” he ordered him.

Servo tightened on the seat, the fabric squeaking under the tension,” there is not enough space for the both of us.”

“This is as much space as I can give,” Shockwave cocked his head to the right-- not enough to face Soundwave over his shoulder,” we have 4 hour transit, please take a seat.”

A voice in his head kept telling him that’s nonsense and a weak excuse. He didn’t want to buy into the lie, but was he really going to stand back here for 4 hours on a rough trip?

With a sigh, he gripped the edge of the seat with both servos and hauled himself over. Pedes and legs first. Barely sliding under the command table, while the rest shuffled in with difficulty. An awkward crashing and scraping of elbows and shoulders before Soundwave could fully situate himself. Already having to touch him more than necessary, sitting this close was off the list. He pushed himself against the wall, locking his right arm in place. Not that it mattered. With his best efforts, his shoulder still pressed flat against Shockwave’s, leaving much to be desired for personal space.

Soundwave tempered himself despite the gnawing urge to scream. If it were possible to feel physically suffocated, this would the textbook definition of it. Lodged -miserable- between a buzzing wall and an emotionless machine.

All the while Soundwave suffered, Shockwave seemed unbothered by this invasion of space. Far too accustomed to his monstrous Phase-Sixers cramping him in his small lab, the Communications officer was a breath of fresh air in exchange.

He waited for the other to stop fidgeting around before opening out his servo towards him.

“May I see the agenda,” he asked.

Soundwave vented. Why didn’t he ask before he was shoved into this corner. “Didn’t Starscream debrief you beforehand?”

“He informed me that I would be debriefed at launch,” he pushed his servo towards him some more, urging him not to waste time.

Bothered by this closeness, he took two digits to his wrist and pushed it aside so that he could reach into his waist compartment for the datapad given to him by Megatron. Unfortunately, it sat on his left hip (of course it would be). He pushed Shockwave again so that he could pull it out of the little holder he kept it in.

“The coordinates are written at the bottom,” he passed it over to him,” anything else is written on that note only.”

Clicking his antennas back, a narrow optic inspected the contents of the datapad, checking for authenticity. When confirmed, Shockwave pulled it from Soundwave’s servo, accidentally brushing digits in the process. Another painful strike up his circuitry. He yanked his arm back towards himself, holding his wrist as if the other burned him.

Shockwave elected to ignore his fanatics.

Within minutes the ship locked on course and hovered out of the bay. The datapad was dumped back into Soundwave’s lap carelessly. There wasn’t enough leeway for Shockwave to properly extend his arm, Soundwave knew this but still took offense anyways. He felt as if everything was a joke to the other now. He grabbed the pad, inspecting it for damage before stowing it away again.

“On your side, I need you to make sure we stay on course. This ship runs much like Megatron’s main control,” he skimmed through all the functions with a vague wave, not bothering to go further into detail after that. He returned to his position by gripping the shift-lever, keeping the ships balance as it crossed the uneven terrain. “There’s probably a manual up in the ceiling board if you don’t believe me.”

The floor of Kaon left much to be desired. Slick, stainless streets ruptured with caters of bombshells at every turn. Whatever buildings were left standing were often crumpled crooked on uprooted foundation. Glass and debris spilling out of them from their upper floors. The city always lit aflame. Fires rousing from the thickets of old factories. No doubt bots inside throwing discarded materials into the bolstering furnaces to keep them alive as precious fuel dwindled en masse.

Off some ways, the sounds of rupturing turbines screamed in the sky. Familiar tri-toned shrieks of high-class Seeker turbos. Starscream and his trine scouring the skies most likely. Autobots were rumored to be travelling on the Northern front for reconnaissance, or so Thundercracker had told Soundwave. He supposes that they’re taking initiative to scout it out.

As oddly serene it was to gaze at the pitted landscape, it felt too comfortable. He snapped back to attention, shifting his focus over to Shockwave, having felt the other staring at him. Or, at least he thought.

The scientist kept looking forward, his optic never leaving the windshield. Annoying.

It was easy to read expressions, to hear thoughts, to guess motives. However, this was a luxury not afforded around a bot like him.

There was nothing, when usually there is everything.

Every nanosecond, every point of a wavelength, he was well immersed into the world. Their conversations, their absence responses within the safe layers of their brain modules. The squeak and squeal of each fiber in a frame. Expressions were merely blankets for untold words situated at a bot’s spark, and yet, none of that was laid bare with Shockwave.

A bot shrouded in mystery was a vast understatement when it came to this scientist. He was definition-less to Soundwave. No words could explain what he is, rather, it was easier to explain how Soundwave felt being around him: distrust, discomfort, disloyalty. Even those felt like it couldn’t accurately describe this feeling that stuck within the manifolds of his spark whenever he was close to him.

There was little way to describe what it was like to sit in absolute silence. Something that only came with the solace of a snuffed spark. He can hear his circuitry pulsing with signals, his frame breathing, but the absence of hurried thoughts left this blankness in the air. He couldn’t describe it other than feeling cold.

“What is it?”

Soundwave shuddered his optics a few times having met Shockwave’s attention. His visor narrowed into a thin line wondering why the other was asking him questions. “Hm?” he grunted, waiting for the rest of his query.

“You were staring at me. I must have missed your question, if you asked me something,” he looked ahead again.

A sudden surge of energon warmed Soundwave’s faceplates. His plating ran hot with embarrassment. Engines threatened to run on high, but he fought the impulses in his body, not wanting Shockwave to get the wrong idea. Was he staring? No, of course not.

“I was making a comment about the war: nothing important,” he lied.

“I wasn’t aware you had opinions. I’d figured you were an automated Megatron answering machine,” Shockwave joked very plainly, though rudely. A poor approach at easing the tension.

Whatever embarrassment sat with Soundwave soon fled replacing itself with insult. He bit his glossa despite rearing all sorts of petty insults he could throw back at him. That’s what he’d want to ruin his disposition. He turned his helm the other way, returning his focus to the outer reaches of the landscape wanting to forget this.

4 hours never felt so long.

A long, quiet trek over the next few states.

For some hours, the ship elevated to a higher altitude to avoid the long, war-made pathways down below. Other times, they sat low to the ground, avoiding the rampaging airstrikes of opposing forces from above. Soundwave tried his best not to offline during this time. The anguished cries and begs of causality scratching at the side of their vehicle. Brutal as he could be, he still felt a deep pity in his soul for those roped into a war that they never asked for. Suffering the consequences of those far above them. He understood.

The closer they were to Crystal City, the better it was. The lands were clean and bots were healthy. Tall marble-white pillars rose from onyx-black metal tiling. An array of colors paved the digital roads, creating pathways for various alt-forms while coloring the pillars with pastel reflections. Compared to the ugly, ashen cities of the warring states, Crystal City felt encased in a bubble. Perfect: utopic.

Near the entrance to the capitol building, two white-and-red medic bots flagged down the ship. They pointed down at a technicolored path arranged for them towards a large landing bay. Another pure white structure appended to a large, crystalline building. Inside there were rows of ships sitting in a near-perfect line. All of them modeled closely to Auxillary. A popular build, or maybe the only “efficient” build. Probably a hot term used in sale pitches toward scientists.

After a long silent trip, Shockwave cleared this vocal systems, trying at conversation again.

“Have you been to Crystal City before?” he asked, not expecting him to answer.

A small shrug,” negative: I’ve only heard stories.”

“Have you ever wanted to go?”

“Negative: I could never afford it, even as a Senator’s assistant.”

Well, so much for that.

Now parked in the landing bay, Shockwave went about shutting off the ship. Soundwave took this chance to finally free himself from the awful clutches of this tiny space. He planted his servo flat against the wall, trying to pry himself up from the spot. Writhing around like a worm in the ground, he fought against the restraints.

It felt easier getting out than getting in, he thought. Until he realized that Shockwave was getting up as well, both of them more than eager to finally leave.

“No- let me,” Soundwave argued, a servo flat on Shockwave’s chassis to hold him back. Shockwave ignored his order and grabbed him by his arm, pulling his upper frame out first.

“You’re scraping my paint. Let me-” another servo grabbed his back and shoved him forward, nearly throwing him down on the floor.

Every inch of Soundwave fought this control over him. His frame tensed, fighting against this playground treatment, but Shockwave was much stronger than him that he couldn’t fight the way his limbs ragdolled over the seat when shoved forward. “Proclamation: I can handle myself,” he protested.

“You are shoving yourself against me. Someone will get the wrong idea,” he ignored his arguments.

“Conjecture: Your ship is too small for us.”

“It is the only grounder ship we have in port,” he didn’t sound too happy about it either,” a ship made for cars, not tanks.”

“I could have stood with the cargo.”

“And risk uneven distribution? That lacks efficiency. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Everything is efficient about the shuttle except seating arrangements. I would have considered passenger safety to be paramount,” Soundwave went towards the back digging through the compartments for his luggage.

“If it were such a concern, then you’re welcome to address it in your own time,” he walked behind him. Whatever compartment he pulled open, he slammed shut to keep him from making a mess,” wait on the luggage. We have to meet with them first.”

Soundwave looked back at him with a glare before looking at the compartments again,”I was seeing where Damus put it.”

Bemusement riddled his expressionless helm. Tired already. He pointed down in the bottom right corner,” he put it away right there.”

The drop-door hissed open. Saving his companion from embarrassment, he stood in front of Soundwave as the other meticulously checked over his luggage. He kept him out of sight as he pushed forward to the hosts waiting on the floor.

The gathering party was a party of one. Another red-and-white medic bot, this time with wide, white metal plates spanning from his helm. A bright smile, and even brighter optics, beamed from the pretentious helm arrangement towards the fellow scientist.

“Senator Shockwave, it’s good to see you again,” he greeted him, servo outstretched.

“Wing, it has been too long,” he clasped his servo firmly,” there is no need for formalities, I’ve resigned my senatorial duties.” Truly, please forget it, it’s just a painful memory anymore.

“Ah, but you’ll always be our beloved precinct senator,” this bot humored him. Naturally, Soundwave would assume he was putting on airs, but his compliments felt genuine. He supposed scientists weren’t ones to throw words around. Maybe not this one.

Soundwave followed out of the haul. Everything he pack was untouched by the uneven passage and nothing stolen. Mostly all he could ask for.

He walked up behind Shockwave, fixing himself off to the side. A little bit out of sight while the other two were locked in light-hearted conversation. No need to bring attention to himself, he wasn’t the ambassador here.

A few more spark-less passing of words before Shockwave angled himself towards Soundwave. His servo clasped the tender points around his elbow before adjusting into a clear hold of him. As if Soundwave would dart any second.

“This is Commander Soundwave,” Shockwave gestured him forward, his grip pulling him in front in intimate presentation. It felt odd to be announced with a generous tone, but he can’t say he disliked it. Soundwave offered his servo out for the other to shake as well.

Wing gasped so sweetly. His hands folded over his chassis in admiration of seeing the other.

“This must be your Conjunx that I have heard so much about!” Wing grabbed Soundwave’s offered servo with both of his, his optics taking in the sight of him,” he’s as lovely as Starscream said he is.”

Con- what

Both officers immediately looked at each other, digits out, ready to blame, but the shock came on so strong it felt like an ugly blur of confusion.

Starscream said... what.

Chapter Text

A thick white band glossed Soundwave’s deep-crimson visor, shielding his ocular lens from sight. His half-attention held to Wing, catching the peaks of his intonations and relaying whatever feedback during his brief laboratory tour. It felt automated, it felt routine. Soundwave fell short on his studies, unable to comprehend the jargon, that everything being said sounded like smudges in his mind.

A sort of anger spun within his cores. Frustration would be a better descriptor. Shockwave’s conjunx? He couldn’t even toy with the concept. It felt criminal to linger on Starscream’s childish prank, yet he couldn’t reason why the passing thought of slight intimacy with that machine pinged every passing thought. Like an intrusive virus, unsavory details invaded his coherence. Minor accounts of vulnerability and a disgusting mix of intimacy thrown together in a hot garbling mess that seeped into every crook of his processor.

Shockwave continued unbothered. His attention forward, listening closely to Wing’s generic tour as if it was his first orientation. All the while Soundwave’s optics blurred over with incriminating thoughts of how to twist those wide-span, white, glossy wings off the delicate hinges on Starscream’s dorsal. A mind too busy; leaving a body to nudge into Shockwave every few steps.

Washed white by the pale fluorescence, Shockwave flourished in familiar territory. A half-dimmed optic sliding back-and-forth on the obsidian screen, inspecting the edges of the facility like an instructor. Wing only glanced towards him, diluted yellow screens ensuring he was still paying attention before switching back to the item in his servo. A couple of times, he’d break from Shockwave to give Soundwave some acknowledgement. A clean line of straight-edged denta, —fangless, unlike the lot of them within the Decepticon states— smiling up at him.

“Is there anything you’d like to know, Commander? Afterall, I’m sure this is your first time here. Unless Senator Shockwave has brought you here before?”

An innocent question innocently burning his armor plating off in a heated mix of embarrassment and insult through volatile implications.

Curling the small points of his digits within his servo, they grinded against the flat steel of his palm while he collected himself. This was a mission. Reputation is paramount. He muttered to himself in mantra.

“...” Soundwave looked around the room for anything to talk about, but he immediately realized that they are far within the depths of the building. It all looked the same. Plain white walls with windows centered in the middle looking out into a tangled network of hallways that lead to similar plain white-wall rooms. It would be wrong to say this was another lab as it was absent of lab equipment, yet it was barren of any furniture to indicate it being anything else.

He continued to glance around the room until that ugly, deep-violet form obscured the purity of the pale room. Optics hopelessly following up that harshly-edged shape, he met that still, ever-watching optic. The burnt-orange coils inside turning and adjusting like a camera lens, taking in the sight of Soundwave, waiting expectantly for him to say something. A silent urging in his body language imploring Soundwave to speak up.

Narrowly avoiding any embarrassment, Soundwave gritted his denta under his mask. A soft jut of the metal obscuring his mouth while he made faces underneath. His thoughts spinning and searching for a clever answer in spite of his mental absence.

“Shockwave: has brought me here before. I’m reminding myself of the place,” his vocals strained, suffocating him. He bit his pride, but it’s convenience was undeniable. Anymore complex, ancient terminology thrown his way on top of Shockwave’s annoying stare might initiate a total shutdown.

The youthful one stared at both of them for a minute, having a passing thought, before another TV-ready smile curled on his face. “Great! I won’t waste anymore time then. I’m sure you are tired from your trip, so I’ll go ahead and show you to your room.”

The air eased between the two officers.

Mentions of the trip allowed the fatigue to seep in. Shockwave appeared eager to finally rest. Though, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

That rigid blue stereo frame appeared to have slacken only for a moment before its shoulders angled up with frustrated tension. Servos clenched in the all-too-familiar fist as Soundwave’s thoughts betrayed him with miserable thoughts of this arrangement.

A singular room meaning a shared space between the two of them. The double-edged sword of responsibility as he knows that being away from Shockwave will only incur restless nights by induced paranoia, but a living space with him will bring the same thing only a different flavor! The tiresome thought of lost rest bothered Soundwave. At least it couldn’t get worse than that.

The room in question was on the far side of this expansive establishment. The walk there is only a leisurely stroll, though for these worn and weary bots it felt like a trudge across the depths of Pious Pools. There was no other sweeter sight than the door of their room with their belongings tucked away inside.

“As far as the agenda goes, I will comm you the information once I talk to Dai Atlas. He is flying in from a tour tonight, so I’ll be sure to send it before tomorrow morning,” Wing informed the both of them as he passed a single datapad towards Shockwave. It was thin with cyan accent lights lining the gold trim. Hairline cracks and dull scratches detailed the bottom edges of the pad signifying its age. The communications officer was unable to linger on the sight before Shockwave tucked it away in his subspace in a suspicious hurry.

“Thank you. I- we will see you tomorrow, then. If we do meet again,” he extended his curtesy as Wing returned the gesture.

“I have no doubt in my mind that we will. Ah- “ he peaked around Shockwave towards Soundwave, who was fixed behind him, looking at nothing in particular,” goodbye to you too. Please take it easy.”

It took a few moments before Soundwave noticed the other calling to him, but by the time he could reply the other was already making his way out of sight.

Finally, he could drop the act and return to his normal attention. It was tiring to play conjunx. It was tiring to pretend he tolerated Shockwave at all. Nevermind that mess, he turned into the room after Shockwave only to stop dead in his tracks.

At this point the shock had lost it’s punch, but the hot, boiling anger he felt inside never ceases to eat at him.

There was only one berth.

The grief came in small tides. He should have known. He did know. Perhaps a small part of him wanted to forget that he suspected it would be this way.

The room itself was compact, yet practical. It was large enough for the two of them to fit inside comfortably, even with their items snug against the walls. Unfortunately, it was the same glaring white as the rest of the buildings were, but the adornments and furniture were a deep crimson along with some dark gray accents to help fill the visual space.

However, the more pressing issue, sat in the middle of the room. A recharge slab large enough for two bots. A recharge machine sat on either side with the cords neatly rolled up aloft the carry hook. It was out of the question to try to sneak off and sleep on the floor. It would only make him look a fool in front of Shockwave. Reputability aside, he would be squeezed into the berth legs and crammed into the luggage.

The intelligence officer didn’t seem all too pleased with the revelation either. He was reluctant to approach the bed by instead slipping around the corner to inspect his items. Without a word, and his back facing out towards the room, he busied himself cataloging all of his stuff while reading something off his comm screen. Soundwave watched him work steadily through the first two bags before he kicked himself for staring again. Bad habits never die.

It would have been wise to check over his own luggage, but Soundwave couldn’t be bothered to pull himself through the motions. The berth was still empty, so he took it has an opportunity to lay down. Maybe if he slipped into recharge first, he wouldn’t have to live through the experience of the other sleeping next to him.

The more he sat on the thought, the more exaggerated the situation became. Before he threw himself in another mental disarray, he grabbed the cord and jammed it right into his neck plating, letting the prongs sink into his notochord. The machine hummed to life fast and clean with electricity already pouring into his complex. Soundwave stumbled in his spot, not expecting such a rush of energy to overcome him. One of these machines equated to the power of at least 20 of these in Kaon, and even then, it would probably process faster.

Fresh, pure energy satisfied the length of his circuitry, lulling him into recharge. In confusing motions, he found himself sinking into the alloy before he offlined the second his helm touched the plating.

“Soundwave…. over.”

A harsh grip and push on his plating.

“You’re… -vy. Move it.”

Another hard push. Sharp metal slid between the slim gap of his plating, scraping the delicate wiring underneath. Soundwave slapped a heavy servo over his side, only hurting himself more as he wedged the piercing servo deeper into the wiring. “Hh--!” he huffed out in pain.

“I know that you’re awake. Don’t be stubborn,” that cold voice jeered him, not moving his claws from Soundwave’s side.

Soundwave grabbed his wrist and threw his servo way, his frame shuffling to the side in a sleepy daze. He was yet made aware of his surroundings, so he was fairly compliant to the other’s request.

Optics dimmed to a low light again as he tried to slip back into his stupo. But, nothing was ever that easy, now was it.

The creak of the berth and the sighs of plating relaxing against the soft alloy. The smooth shuffling of the other settling into the place next to him. All of these things were brought to his immediate attention, pulling him out of his daze.

The balance of the berth tilted towards Shockwave, shifting at the weight of his cannon arm resting on the edge of it. Now that the other has settled, the quiet ambience of the room returned. Quiet as it now was, the previous white noise was replaced with the quiet whirring of his circuitry and the static of his empty thoughts. That same, confounded static that Soundwave hated to hear. He had grown comfortable with the passing of another’s thoughts. He had learned to tune them out. However, the anomaly of Shockwave’s censored processors was jarring to the other as he couldn’t stand the loss of control. Neither the ambiguity of the other.

In a moment like this, it didn’t matter, the other would have offlined by now and his thoughts would be empty either way, but that impenetrable static continued to roar against Soundwave’s audials like the sea. Higher and lower, the wavelengths bounced against the shape of his audial with each changing process of the other’s mind.

The awful static stilled into pindrop silence.

A switch flicked in his occipital modules when the attention to the sounds went into the attention on his frame. A cold servo clasped over his own, thumb digit sliding against his palm as it locked him down into place. Panicked, his body stiffened to register this response before he tried to pry his arm away from the unwanted touch.

“You’re clawing the berth,” a low voice spoke above the irritable screeching that was Soundwave’s digits millimeters deep into the metal.

“Let go of me,” he fought, his anxiety growing as the other refused to release him.

The grip softened, but he kept the other complacent.

“Nightmares about being away from home?” another joke of bad taste. Soundwave scoffed in response.

“Negative: I don’t need to explain myself.”

And most certainly Shockwave didn’t want an explanation either. He took his servo away and let the other escape into himself.

“Now that I have your attention, we need to wake up early and plan ahead,” Shockwave continued to talk, ignoring the other’s fussing.

“This couldn’t have waited until morning?” Soundwave replied, appalled that the other trapped him in to tell him something unimportant as that.

“You ignored me and went to berth before I was able to tell you,” he laid his helm back now that he finally said what he had to say,” I’ve set an alarm for both of us.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave complied with that much before he pulled his servo to rest against his soft ventral metal, keeping it safe from the nuisance next to him. “Query: anything else?”

“No. Goodnight, Soundwave,” the other gave one last look at his berth partner before he dimmed his optic. A final breath of his plating eased out as his processors slowed down into recharge.

Was that it?

Surely not.

Wait, why does he care?

A heat rushed over Soundwave’s helm and throat cords. What emotion could this be now? He doesn’t even know nor does he want to know. He’ll blame it on being woken up, stabbed with claws, and annoyed with agenda in the middle of the night. He was tired and was more than willing to push off this awkward churning in his circuitry as nothing more than piled on happenings.

He grabbed his servo with his other and rested it over his midsection, fidgeting back into his comfortable position to attempt a second chance at rest.

“...”

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

An unpleasant night rolled over into a somewhat pleasant morning.

Soundwave sat at the edge of the shared berth, his helm heavy with drowsiness. His rest was peaceful, but too at peace that his overbearing thoughts took over and kicked him awake. At least the roaring electrostatic silence of Shockwave dulled as Soundwave habituated to his presence and refused to let it bother him anymore. For now. Maybe he was more bothered by the complete lack of movement Shockwave did in his sleep. His frame laid still as a dead mech on a cold slab. His physical presence was so close, yet so distant that it felt like no one was there at all.

The only reason he was awake now was due the embarrassing collision he had with the other. He had turned on his side and slapped a servo flat against Shockwave’s chest plates. Digits splayed over the glass, tracing into the divets of the plating decoration. The other had shifted in his sleep which alerted Soundwave of this new, living presence next to him, forcing him to wake up so abruptly that he nearly threw himself off of the bed.

So here he is, holding his spinning helm while his frame overheats from embarrassment.

The sun snuck over the edge of the horizon. Soft pink tinted the several tall window panes of all the offices within the district. A gentle streak of it slipped in through the thin crack of their curtains, laying over Shockwave’s helm highlighting the edges of that purple hexagon and illuminating that inky black screen currently devoid of his ever-watching optic. Despite Soundwave’s disturbance, he continued to lay asleep. Perhaps the commute was more taxing for him than he had let on.

For a while he continued to sit there, waiting for the other to wake up so they could discuss their planned meeting. Though, the more he sat in the stillness the more he became aware of the noises around him.

Soft sighs of morning voices proliferated the room. Sleepy engineers, floor workers, politicians mumbling to each other all over the building, and the fading of engines as alt-modes drove by down below. Having been worn by the high-pitched whistles of Seeker fire and the clattering of metal as buildings tumbled into ash, Soundwave had long forgotten the tranquility of being among, well, the living.

Amidst the chattering, a deep rumble groaned below. Half-steps off beat of the natural vocal wavelengths, it clanged and boomed somewhere far beneath the surface. Soundwave had ignored it at first, assuming it was a stray engine that belonged to the building. The longer he listened, the more the rumbling became so intrusive and loud. As if it wasn’t distracting enough, the shriek of Cybertronians joined in its awful chorus, startling Soundwave awake.

He was already out of the door, looking either way for the direction it came from before he came to his senses and realized he has no idea what he’s doing. Halfway down the hall, he stood there dumbfounded by his curious instincts that he could only look out those wide-pane windows again and curse himself.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” a voice hummed behind him.

“?!”

Soundwave met glances with another bot of similar size. Its frame is absent of the ubiquitous red-and-white scheme that all the other researchers had. His mouth was concealed behind a beige battle mask and his optics were red like a Decepticon. HIs most distinguishing features were probably the single-prong emblem that substituted as his chevron and the Decepticon-esque purple coloring over his chassis.

“...Yes, it is,” he replied painly.

“New around here?” he chuckled,” I can always tell a new scientist by how tired you look from the early commute.” He moved closer to Soundwave, certainly not shy about personal space. His servo slipped over Soundwave’s back as he urged him along his path.

“Incorrect: I’m visiting,” Soundwave hurried to inform him before he got dragged away to Primus knows where in this confusing building.

“Visiting? Oh-” the bot glanced down at Soundwave’s chest, noticing the freshly painted symbol crudely etched over the reminisce of a red, boxy one. “My bad. Judging by your frame alone, you looked like one of the interns. Let me guess… Communications?”

“Affirmative.”

“For someone in tech, they certainly aren’t paying you enough to replace that faulty voice box of yours,” he tagged light-heartedly. “I’m Mesothulas,” he held out a courteous servo towards him.

“Soundwave,” he shook with him, ignoring his comments.

The other kept walking anyways refusing to release the other from his full attention. “So, what brings a Decepticon to Crystal City? Though you mechs were too busy flattening Iacon into the ground.” Generally being brutes, so I’ve heard. Mesothulas’ mind continued.

“Purpose: sight-seeing.”

“Sight-seeing? Hm, well, yeah I suppose there aren’t many ‘sights’ anymore after all the catastrophe,” he shrugged like it can’t be helped,” I’m not really sure what all I can show you. We have rules here y’know, but I can show you some of the antiquated stuff left from my teacher and from his teacher as well.”

Mesothulas stood there rubbing the edge of his jaw in thought. Soundwave meanwhile stopped little ways behind him, checking his comm for any messages. The small notification icon flashed with a “9+” from who he can already presume was Starscream antagonizing him, or already getting fed up being alone with Megatron. Who knows.

HIs servo hovered over the icon to check, but was interrupted by Mesothulas yanking him forward again.

“Yeah, I think we’re going the right way,” the mech went ahead on their current path,” my teacher left a little while ago, you might know him, he’s pretty important now. Er- he’s always been pretty important, but now he’s in the upper ranks of the Decepticons. Isn’t that pretty neat?” the other kept speaking as if Soundwave could leave and he would still keep going. “I miss him sometimes. Without him around, I lost a fair amount of inspiration for many of my projects. But, that’s fine. I didn’t expect him to stay around forever. Certainly not with the current state of Crystal City.”

Primus, of all mechs. The more words that piled on, the more this radio bot started to miss Wings’ harmless little chirps.

Soundwave tried his best to match description to high-rank Decepticons. Since scientists were condemned under Functionalism, most of them flooded their ranks in such a short time that Soundwave was unable to pinpoint exactly who it could have been.

“Query: Was your teacher Flatline?” he asked.

“Flatline! Hah, never. He gives me the creeps!” he shivered exaggeratedly before mellowing into a chuckle,” that’s disappointing to hear. I always figured he’d follow Pharma and Ratchet to the Autobots.”

“Then, I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do!” he slapped his arm as if Soundwave was the one pulling his leg,” quit teasing, it’s Shockwave. I heard that he’s nothing but famous over there in those rebel states along with that screeching Seeker. Guess politics didn’t work out for that one.” He muttered that last part like anyone was listening.

Right, yeah, of course. To no one’s surprise. Soundwave cycled his vents.

“Right. How could I forget?” he played along,” clarification: his works are displayed?”

“I think it’s more correct to say that Jhiaxus’ works are displayed. Shockwave continued them and then some, but yes. All the same they are displayed in our honorary hall. A few months ago, I had to take down some of them and stow them back into his lab since the war drew closer to Crystal City. You know all the important ones. Only the plaques and replicas are displayed up front now.”

“It would be nice to see his works. He doesn’t flaunt his projects as much as he did here. I assume.”

“Is that right?” Mesotulas’ optics widened,”sounds so unlike him. Maybe you guys are really working him to the wires.” He waved his servo and started walking towards an elevator.

Once both were inside, the scientist punched in some code before he looked back at Soundwave.

“Some of his work might go over your head. It certainly did mine when I first looked at it, but if you have any questions, you’re welcome to ask me.”

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you,” he nodded towards him. He was getting tired hearing about Shockwave this and Shockwave that. Just his luck to find his adoring student before anyone else. Soundwave looked for ways to turn the conversation so he could be spared of it all.

“Query: what do you do here?”

One exhausting conversation later, the two mechs stood in front of a modest lab door. It wasn’t plated in any gold nor was it adorned in decorative lights. One could walk too fast and miss it if they weren’t looking for it. The only obvious difference was a gold-plated plaque that sat to the right of the door reading:

Senator Shockwave of Crystal City
Founder of Jhiaxan Academy of Technology
Lead Researcher of Jenova

With Shockwave no longer here, it could have been read with mourning. Had it been the only plaque here, it certainly would have been. Though the rest of the labs within the corridors all had special titles next to the door frames denoting all the spectacular achievements of the intellectuals here.

“You know, I was supposed to work on Jenova as well,” he broke the silence,” though the advisory committee never allowed me to work on it since Shockwave left.”

“They should have because I gave you full permission to.”

Mesothulas’ servo stopped just before the keypad, his attention drawn up at the stoic figure before him that’s now blocking the doorway. Soundwave’s chassis tightened, but the tension didn’t last as Mesothulas grabbed onto him in surprise.

“Good morning, Mesothulas.”

“Shockwave!” The scientist scrambled off of Soundwave and went over, grabbing Shockwave’s cannon arm in unyielding excitement,” you didn’t tell me you were coming back!”

“I was given short notice,” he allowed the other to hang off him.

“I find that hard to believe. A comm message only takes about 5 clicks,” he pulled himself off and grabbed Soundwave, pulling him forward,” someone within your ranks is visiting us. So, I thought it was fitting to show him all of the doctoral work you’ve done for both the Academy and here at the research labs. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet. He doesn’t seem that high in command.”

Had Shockwave still have possession of his frontal cortex anymore, he would have laughed. The tremble in his shoulders signified that of which made Soundwave’s faceplates warm under his mask.

“He doesn’t look like a lot, but he’s Megatron’s third-in-command. More importantly, he’s my conjunx.”

Mesothulas gasped,” your conjunx?! You’re lying.” There is no way anyone would ever want to marry you again. He turned towards the communications officer again,” why didn’t you tell me in the first place, you sly mech? Oh wait, let me guess, you wanted to gush over your conjunx in secret. I get that.”

Soundwave was slowly growing intolerant for Shockwave’s laconic way of joking. Was it even a joke anymore or was he actually saving his reputation?

“He-” Soundwave looked at his “lover” then back at the youthful mech,” I didn’t want any special treatment because of my association with him.”

“Eh? Eh, fair enough. I wouldn’t be able to help myself, after all, he took such care of me. I would be remiss not to return the favor to his beloved,” he shrugged helplessly again. “Well, since you’re here, I don’t really need to detail anything in for him. Will I be seeing you around?”

“I have a meeting with Dai Atlus tonight. We can schedule something if I have time,” Shockwave presented this tentative invite.

“Sounds good.”

Blue metal pressed flush against the wall avoiding his counterpart in this crowded room. Soundwave tucked his calf against some scrap on the floor while he half-sat on the table behind him. His best efforts in putting himself far enough to be in Shockwave’s complete field of vision. Now no longer in the presence of listening audials, the communications officer narrowed his visor in a thin line towards Shockwave.

“How did you get here so fast? Were you awake that whole time?”

Shockwave’s singular optic locked onto Soundwave’s face, focusing in on him. “I should be the one asking the questions. I told you we were going to discuss the meeting this morning and you were gone with your comm line off.”

“Negative: the only messages I had were from Starscream. You didn’t send anything.”

“I didn’t send anything because nothing went through. Your line is down.”

There was no way that his line would be down already. He was ready to dispute by showing him his comm before he realized a hole in his argument.

“Objection: if you were looking for me, then why were you in your lab?”

“Because, I had a feeling you would end up here.”

Touche.

“There was no guarantee that I would end up here. Consider: what if I didn’t show up here?”

“It doesn’t matter. You are here right now. Any other possibility is irrelevant.”

Curse this logical mind. Any manipulative tricks Soundwave learned from Starscream were useless against Shockwave. He shifted around on the table, carefully planting his other pede onto the ground without crushing anything under it.

“Fine. You have me here now. Suggestion: we converse about the meeting. Declaration: I am still unsure what you are planning to negotiate.”

Shockwave pushed himself closer, his knee sliding near the edge of Soundwave’s inner thigh. Mesothulas didn’t do a very good job of leaving space in the room.

“First, check your comm link,” he insisted.

Soundwave was reluctant to comply, but he was suspicious on how persistent the other was being. He turned away and checked his comm-link. The same “+9” notification sat over the message icon. When he clicked over it, the screen filled with messages from Starscream… 2 days ago. Suspecting the poor signal in the area, he tapped the ‘refresh’ icon to see if anything else would load. The screen delayed itself before only showing the same old, unread messages.

Unsure what to think, Soundwave looked up at the mech before him, finding the words to rightfully accuse him. Instead, he grabbed Shockwave’s wrist, pulling up his comm-link himself.

Obviously the other didn’t appreciate this and started to pull away. “I gave you the decency of your privacy.”

“Conjecture: I have no reason to believe you are telling the truth right now.”

“I have no reason that you are either,” Shockwave anchored his arm towards himself, but that didn’t stop Soundwave from shakingly navigating to Sixshot’s name in the “recent contacts” list and call it.

The profile image of Sixshot enlarged over the holoscreen with three bars flashing outwards. It ran the dial tone for about 5 clicks before the screen errored out with a large “x” over his profile image and closing it out of itself. Soundwave refused to believe that this was the case so he fought harder against Shockwave and dialed Overlord only to receive the same result.

Sick of being pulled on like a puppet, Shockwave gave one final yank and tore himself free from the other’s clingy servos. He couldn’t rub his aching joints, so it was all he could do to flex his servo a few times.

“Are you satisfied with your results now?” Shockwave spat venom at him. Shaking the screen off, he did his best not to stare down at the other with malice,” did you hear an EMP go off last night?”

“Negative: if one did, we would accumulate widespread system failure.”

“Did you hear anything at all?”

Soundwave reopened his comm-link, this time dialing in codes to see if he can get any line to go through. Even the encrypted line he saved purely for Megatron. Every single one error’d out or simply went dead to static. He thought to himself, trying to remember anything relevant in the last few hours. A EMP would cause his screen to be lodged full of system errors and bring on sluggish processors. Other than, well, the small fuss they had, he couldn’t remember-

“Observation: there was something.”

Disconnecting his screen, he found the other to be rummaging through his lab. Filing down towards the edges of the room, boxes were being pushed and shoved out of the way, by proxy also shoving Soundwave closer to the middle in the middle of it all.

“It was-” Soundwave held himself from answering until the other finished.

In the clearing, small red dots sat within the corners, hidden from sight. Shockwave lifted his helm and signaled Soundwave. Two digits tapped against his off-white antennae, notifying the other that they are being listened to.

Soundwave followed his gestures and met him halfway. Stepping through his things, he grabbed Shockwave by the servo, yanking him out of the rubble and seamlessly out of the room. His partner’s digits slid between his, leaving a gap wide enough for him to trace his over his palm.

It wasn’t ideal to communicate this way. It left a wide margin of error, but Soundwave couldn’t risk cameras capturing any written correspondence either.

Basement level. Loud boom and shrieking.

Charge bomb?

No. Sounded industrial. Engine-like.

Shockwave noted this. Scanning their area, he was in desperate search for a dead zone. Up on the upper floors, there was no guarantee for any space rooms that weren’t bugged. The end of the hallway stationed a communal balcony. The intelligence officer hurried to it, pushing Soundwave outside, so he could check behind him before locking the doors.

The blue mech stumbled onto the platform with uneven pedes after Shockwave’s not-so-gentle push. He caught himself against the bannister and used it to balance his weight. The other mech passed one more watchful look through the door before turning around to meet the other again. One mouthless bot and a battle-masked bot, he doubted that the cameras could pick up their conversation. It felt safe, even if it was only for the moment.

“Was Mesothulas the only person you talked to this morning?”

“Affirmative.”

“You didn’t see Wing at all?”

“Negative.”

Both of them stared at each other, lost for any sort of conclusion. Soundwave found himself picking at his comm screen again, concealing his arm between him and Shockwave, using the other as cover. He clicked at the “refresh” button over and over only to see the same error, confirming his worser fear that his comm-link was truly off.

“Query: what now?” Soundwave looked up at his taller counterpart, feeling exceptionally vulnerable in these circumstances; far from home in extra unfamiliar territory. Unknowingly, he found himself shifting closer to Shockwave to seek comfort in the only familiar thing he knew around here.

“Perhaps Crystal City does have a bias after all,” Shockwave responded by angling his helm more to keep optic contact with the other.

“We are here until we get our resources. Additionally: I am unsure if we are the only ones who are shut-down.”

As much as he didn’t want to believe it, Soundwave didn’t want to consider that they are being singled out. They are a 6-hour Seeker commute from their headquarters, not including any run-ins along the way.

Now given a proper opportunity to rerun the events, the communications officer attempted to look for patterns. It felt convenient. It certainly didn’t help Shockwave’s lack of concern, but Soundwave has to consider that he didn’t have the ability to be concerned. A nagging voice in his brain begged to accuse him. Turning around all on itself and yelling that it’s all fake. It was all too easy. He should have expected this from him.

But... he didn’t have any proof.

“Suggestion: Let’s not waste time.”

Chapter Text

“Inquiry: what did Megatron tell you?” Soundwave asked, his focus on the annotated contract resting on his thigh.

He thumbed the edge of the screen, chipping the loose metal encasing that barely covered the charging cable seated underneath. It was less about assessing the damage of the device and more about replacing the ghost of Shockwave’s claws on his palm.

Shockwave, meanwhile, took to the berth, resting his weight against the unbalanced edge of it. He skimmed over the lengthy blocks of fine print that were decorated with convoluted diagrams sandwiched between each paragraph. Parsing through prettied sentences took most of Shockwave’s attention before he could find himself a response for Soundwave.

“Surely the same thing he told you,” he squared his shoulders in the other’s direction,” after the incursion near Tetrahex, we sustained a variety of damage from our shields to our weaponry. No thanks to the rewarding few that brought some unwanted baggage back and breached our security systems,” his optic flickered, his pointed tone annoyed at no one in particular.

It was a shared feeling of frustration. Soundwave recalled spending the better half of the month repairing failing systems that amounted to much less than what they were worth post-damage. It was a worry that was pressed to the back of his mind, but now that he was absent, it started to nag back at him once again.

“Megatron made it clear that we’re running out of willing donors, so he’ll do about anything to get a few additional supplies. I’m certain by force if needed,” Shockwave tagged in, watching as Soundwave’s digits twitched at his flippant remark.

“There won’t be any force involved. We agreed on a more passive approach,” he interjected, asserting his position before Shockwave goaded him further.

Shockwave seemed humored by his response and replied, “a passive approach. And what exactly does that entail? A complete uproot of each facility on the map or a coordinated Seeker carpet bomb? ” he could have stopped at the initial remark, but instead pushed further onto Soundwave’s nerves, grating each digital synapse until he struck the right one.

Ignoring the fine cracks slowly crawling over the screen of his gifted datapad, Soundwave focused on the highlights within the fine print in baseless effort to brush over his comments. It was fine when it was Starscream spouting careless remarks to shield his ego, but something about Shockwave being particularly critical bit at his patience. He was careful with the words he wished to use, not wanting to take the obvious bait Shockwave laid out before him.

“Correct: I am certain he would want to avoid unnecessary directives on a healthy city-state. The only healthy city-state on Cybertron anymore,” he emphasized his point.

At a verbal deadlock, Shockwave backed down from testing Soundwave’s loyalties. However, Soundwave was anywhere but close to finished with Shockwave.

Turning his attention from the paperwork to his partner, Soundwave’s dark blue frame glinted from the streaks of sunlight beaming through the window, gliding a thick glare over his visor with the forward tilt of his helm.

“Inquiry: Are you sure it is not you that wants to see Crystal City burned?”

“Me?”

Shockwave asked sternly, giving Soundwave the opportunity to elaborate, but was instead met with a stiff silence that awaited his confirmation.

“Soundwave, don’t be foolish.”

“Answer the question.”

Shockwave paused his reading, his gaze remaining on the highlighted text before him, but a yellow flare flashed at Soundwave, loosely acknowledging his cold glare.

“No. It’s obvious I wouldn’t want that,” he answered, becoming increasingly irritated with Soundwave’s attitude. “I’ve built a life and an extensive resume here. Why would I consider plundering any of that away?” He spelled it out for him as if he were a sparkling who couldn’t grasp the permeance of the situation.

A clench of Soundwave’s jaw scraped the points of his molars against each other in growing irritation. He realized he was becoming irrational with him and will likely circle around in an endless chase of incriminating questions that Shockwave will only skirt around. It was useless to voluntarily confirm a motive with him, much less in a place that is surveilling the very cycle of their vents.

Shockwave turned his shoulder, resting his elbow on the edge of the berth while the lip of his cannon sat against the floor. “I know what you’re really curious about is how we’ll approach matters tonight at dinner,” he switched the conversation, preferably trying to stay on track.

Reluctantly derailed, Soundwave adjusted his focus. Helm angled downward to pretend he returned to his readings. “Correct: I’m unsure if I should attend with you tonight,” Soundwave slackened his posture back into the seat he was lounging in, allowing his weight to fall into the comfort.

“You should. Even if you didn’t, you would still be close by listening in, so might as well keep you in the same room if you’re going to bother with that,” he tagged light-heartedly.

It was apparent he was jabbing back out of the minor agitation from earlier. Soundwave brushed it off since he couldn’t dispute the truth.

“Proposal: I will record and catalog the conversation then for archival purposes.”

“To send back to Megatron for thorough review, you mean,” Shockwave retorted. He didn’t need to specify what he meant by that for Soundwave to pass him another deserving glare.

“Affirmative: you are not the only subject that will be analyzed. Don’t take it personally.”

The air stood still waiting for another passive comment to break its silence. It held and broke at the timid knock at the door soon followed by the heavy exhale of Shockwave’s vents as he went to answer it.

The door revealed the usual bright-eyed, welcomed face of Wing smiling up at him. “Dai Atlus is waiting down in the conference hall, ready whenever you are.”

“Thank you. We’ll join you in a moment,” he gave a nod of acknowledgement before giving a second coordinating nod to Soundwave.

Soundwave should have expected the honorable size and energy that Dai Atlus would be. An imposing bot sitting at the far side of the council table, servos neatly laced against the steady edge. The perfect balance that Dai Atlus created was disrupted by the imbalance of company he had on either side of him. One much larger bot, glossed in a righteous red and face concealed by a battle mask much like Soundwave’s, leaving only the cautious stare of light-blue optics counteracted a less imposing presence of a darkly accented bot with bright yellow chevron. A curious aura spilling into his body language as he darted his focus between Shockwave and Soundwave, taking in the sight of these two. As much as those naive optics bounced, they seemed to steady at the crude, purple etching on Soundwave’s chest before scattering over the imagery of the two guests again.

Not unlike meetings back at Kaon, Shockwave presented himself tall before the table, not yet taking a seat as he waited for his host to greet him. Though, the most Dai Atlus had given was a callous look. Soundwave caught himself from standing next as he noticed the lack of greeting, his shoulders growing stiff at the sudden tension in the room.

His focus waned and the voices started to pour in once again, his mind swimming with distant murmurs looking for noise to fill his headspace. The loudest of those whispers came from a shaky Wing off on the corner, his mind shouting with worry before his voice joined him in an uncoordinated chorus of thought and verbal disarray.

“Dai Atlus, sir... senator Shockwave,” a shaky gesture of Wing’s arms presenting Shockwave forward. His frame trembled as if he were shouldering the weight of the room alone.

Dai Atlus’ lips pressed into a firm line with a noticeable inquiry in his face. Lens-pupils readjusting to the light, taking in the sight of the Decepticon before him, yet no response to be had from him.

He did not recognize the bot before him.
“... It has been so long, senator,” he welcomed him in a gravelly voice, servo open in a friendly gesture, but his eyes equally distant as he beckoned them to the table. “I hope your accommodations have been, well, accommodating,” he said dismissively. The two followed his curtsy while they allowed themselves at their assigned seats on the opposite end of him.

Formalities were cut short by the clicking of digital paperwork found itself on the table between them. Several documents with no shortage of dry verbiage stacked high from Shockwave’s end being filtered down on either side of the table through inexperienced minds until they would eventually sit before Dai Atlus himself. Shockwave kept himself poised on his side, cataloging their responses appropriately so that he can curate a convincing speech for each proposal that they were willing to argue against.

Star Saber and Axe had the pleasure of reviewing all the documents first before passing them along to Dai Atlus. Fast and biased expressions sewn on their faceplates in reading each one. Axe seemed unconcerned with many of the proposals, simply sending them away as they posed no conflict on his end meanwhile Star Saber seemed to have some sort of opposition for a great few of them, writing fast notes on them before passing them along.

The organized lot these few were, Dai Atlus took to reading their comments. His reaction was difficult to gauge as his body language was indiscernible. His EMField even more so. He had proper blockages in place; high-grade and expensive, designed specifically for negotiations. Soundwave found the technology to be slightly more robust than the typical lightweight one that politicians would use in Iacon. A prototype, perhaps. No matter the hardware, the encryption keys stayed relatively the same, save for a few raised exponents to account for.

Working through wavelengths was more time consuming than direct line connection into the mainframe. Non-tangible request-response queries begged for bit-error and latency errors. The saving grace was that Soundwave sat close in an unchanging distance from the bot, allowing consistency checking throughout his process.

A final few clicks before a rush of static crashed into his audials. He gripped the edges of his own thigh to bear the brunt of the agonizing sound, fishing through the wavelengths to find an inner voice through his EMField. Bitter feelings of caution and distrust hit him first. Cold, strong feelings of rejection shifting Soundwave’s own EMfield, wavering his focus. There were no words to be found other than a quick thought that was soon to be said aloud.

“As I’ve originally agreed with Megatron, I am willing to donate precious alloys and the remainder of our alpha-grade ships,” Dai Atlus finally spoke after reaching a decision with himself.

Shockwave stared at him momentarily, waiting for anything else to be spoken, only for it to stew in the silence that he created. “And my patents?” he finally asked, not bothering to skirt around the intention.

The crash in formality caused Soundwave’s digits to twitch, falling into this natural reaction of correcting Shockwave as he usually did during meetings, but he held himself to watch their host instead. The domineering bot sat unmoving, blue optics steady on the cool-toned bot before him. He was firm in his statement and simply repeated again,” as I said, you are welcome to your necessary supply of alloy and ships.”

“Those were published under my name and title. I recognize that they are a property of the college, but I have the right to return the ownership back to myself,” he contested.

“Correct, however, as you mentioned they are property of the college and that you were once a student of Jhiaxus. This lists all founding blueprints to be under his ownership. Per his contract, all of his patents and creations are open source and therefore, belong to all the students who attend here,” he laid it out as to not have his words twisted and mistaken.

Slick, pointed digits carved between the thin crevices of Shockwave’s palm. Soundwave flinched at the grating noise wanting to reach over and hold his servo. His servo stopped short at the armrest when he felt the razor-thin, sharp warning Shockwave was giving him through his own field. “Not all of my works were published while I was under Jhiaxus’ tutelage. I believe I have the privilege to procure those at least. If necessary, I am willing to leave behind a copy of them as for them to remain an open resource.”

“I believe it was a verbal agreement that, as an incumbent senator, that all your works belonged to Crystal City with no extension to any affiliates. If anything, I believe you have rescinded those privileges when you forfeited your position to join the ranks of the Decepticons,” Dai Atlus said in finale, punctuated by his final signature on the documents he was willing to sign before sliding the pile back over to Soundwave, assuming that he was his secretary.

Shockwave clicked his servo on the table, a sharp claw tapping into the marbled white granite,” I believe it was an unspoken agreement that my works exist outside the realm of politics. All of my trademarks and original works belonged to me regardless of my incumbency or not. In fact, there is no clause written that includes the sudden uprising within the states as far as it affects my personal work. So, if you will, please,” he strained the last part of that sentence, making it as insincere as it was.

Dai Atlus had not removed his focus from him. His brows turned in, wrinkling the metal in between while the frown on his face dug deep wrinkles at the edge of his lips. “I am not in allowance for this proposal. However, if it is so important to you, you are allowed to Jhiaxus’ work and all works that he willingly allows to be openly distributed. That is my final say on the matter.”

As natural as it comes, Soundwave assumed the paperwork into his arm, pulling it close to his frame. He began to thumb through them before he caught himself, aghast at his behavior. Prying eyes kept from looking through them, at least not now, and certainly not in front of Shockwave. It was more important to film this meeting and save the menial labor for later.

“Stubborn as ever,” the former senator casually responded, tired of keeping up his formal tone,” very well.” Soundwave reached out, his grip ever so slightly brushing the point where Shockwave’s elbow meets with the charge canon, trying to keep him from departing too soon. As swiftly as Soundwave had come in contact with him Shockwave swept him off with a broad turn of his shoulder. “I’m not looking to waste your time any further. May I have an escort to the loading areas as we prepare ships for collection.”

A question or demand, who knows. With how flatly the scientist spoke, one could only infer.

“You may,” Dai Atlus made no effort as to stopping him, allowing his guest to dismiss himself as if he were a regular member instead of some antagonistic diplomat.

Soundwave followed him after throwing his shoulders forward in a fast bow, passively thanking them for their time. A minor blow to his pride to kneel before people who undermined their cause, but it was for Megatron and the Decepticons and he was reluctant to ruin this opportunity.

Contracts shoved tight into his chassis, he hurried behind to catch up to Shockwave who was gaining distance down the corridor.

“Query: why are you so adamant on this deal. Quote: They are open source. Suggestion: Why not simply take from those,” he raised his voice to get his attention.

Shockwave stopped in his steps, allowing Soundwave to gain distance on him. He didn’t say anything to that other than the sharp flare of his lens to showcase his disappointment in that question before continuing on down the hallway. “I’m not here for the open source blueprints.”

“Then… What,” there was some anger underlying his tone,” statement: Shockwave nearly cost us a valuable negotiation over some prototypes.”

A screeching halt in the hallway, purple frame stopped dead center as the smaller blue frame knocks flat against it at first. Soundwave scrambled to keep the datapads in his arms as Shockwave turned over, leering over him; tired of his questions.

“Alloys, metals, ships. We can attain those anywhere. We can make those given the resources. What I want is far more valuable and indispensable. It will benefit Cybertron in the long run and will secure Megatron’s place at the rightful top if he so pleases. So, if you will, Soundwave, quit asking unnecessary questions.”

Soundwave was taken aback by the aggressive statement. He saw how he has struck a chord that has already been sung within his partner. His persistence waned, seeing how this flustered argument will get them nowhere. Not that Shockwave was entirely wrong, but he had doubts as to what Shockwave considered valuable and even more doubts on what Shockwave would consider “putting Megatron on top” actually meant.

“Objection: this isn’t about Megatron. Do not tag him in as a part of your shallow reasoning.”

“Is that the only thing you’re ever concerned with,” Shockwave could almost chuckle.

“Incorrect: I am correcting you for your emotionally charged statements.”

“Emotionally charged? I am speaking the truth. There is no fallacy in what I propose.”

“Statement: you are claiming you can fix Megatron on a high throne. You are saying things I want to hear. Accusation: you are twisting this into a personal endeavor out of your own benefit.”

“Do you only think in matters that are black-and-white? Just because it benefits me doesn’t mean Megatron will get nothing in return. It would be inefficient not to utilize all the available resources we have here before it is disposed of within the war.”

“Shockwave: you nearly both lost the trade agreement and these patents you sought. There was nearly no benefit to any of this.”

Shockwave stepped forward, closing the space between the two of them and in turn, forcing Soundwave to step back in efforts to avoid him. “You spend too much time reading into the microscale of situations that you do not take into account the macro. These small things stack up. You, of all people, should know this.”

“Objection: this- …”

Cold. Pain.

Flares radiated up Soundwave’s nodal cord into his brain. The squealing ping of messages flooded into his system error log, but he couldn’t read them. He panicked. He couldn’t read anything. The words were there but none of them were making sense to him.

His claws bore into the cold metal beneath him desperately searching for any sort of sensation. A putrid, acidic taste sat in the back of his throat, yet his glossa couldn’t taste the warm fluid bubbling out of his mouth. His joints ached with what felt like rust and he couldn’t find the strength to drag himself.

Something cold and sharp shoved on his shoulder and threw him onto his back. Dull white lights burned into his retina-lens until it eventually smudged into a pure white blur. An elongated shape stood over him in a buzzing static.

Who? … Who was he with again? Where did he go?

The white washed him clean and there was only a silencing sting controlling all of his senses until there was nothing.

Chapter Text

Pin-drop silence rattled the stillness until it vibrated into a high pitched ringing. Shrill and invasive, a painful screech that stayed locked in one’s mind going unnoticed by everyone else in the room.

Gripping the edge of his helm, the bot struggled to come to his surroundings. A hard, cold surface pressed up against his chassis, yet his mind replayed the shifting visuals of the warm-toned burst of dusk. Flares of magenta painting a broad gradient on the horizon, but were sullied by the tall columns of black ash spiraling into the skyline. To his left, the sharp-toothed smile joined by the careless laugh of his trinemate laughing with him and to his right, the refined smirk of his other trinemate watching his brothers make peace in the moment.

As fast as the vision came, it vanished into the sweep of malignant wavelengths in his audials. The edge of his digits buried into the obsidian metal on his helm, marking thick, unattractive rows on his vent housing.

It blared like a warning siren. It was all he could do to make it stop until his brain latched onto something in the far corner. Two sets of voices: a lax, uncaring one joined by a stiff, authoritative one prim with a boring accent.

“Are you sure that it worked? I mean, the tracking markers in his labs were removed last night and led me into another dead trail,” the voice snapped in an accusatory tone, surely fed up with his verbal partner.

“Yes. I am 100-percent sure it did,” the other said in return, his mood cheery and unbothered by how bitter the first one was,” while the lab probing was a dud, the frame markers were a success. After all, I placed them myself.”

The voices waned again, his focus pulling between the allure of chatter and the screech in the back of his helm.

Unable to lock on direction, the aerial-bot groped at the floor until he found the strength to prop himself onto his knees. His movements were slow and grating in a losing fight against gravity. A weight centered on his dorsal and threw his alignment off, as if he were chained by the wings and suspended there.

Ah, that’s because he was.

In a painful bend towards the floor in adherence to gravity, builky, magnetic binds weighed his chassis down to the metal panelling beneath him while docking hooks buried into the high angle of his wings, craning them upwards in a painful stretch. Matching magnetic bands cuffed his wrists and ankles, giving him enough room to move, yet not enough to straighten out. With what freedom he did have, he lifted his optics through the tall, electric rods that divided him from the rest of the lab. A few adjustments later he was finally able to perceive the shapes behind the far table.

“Prowl…” he snarled under his breath. He couldn’t identify the other one, he didn’t care to.

That damned white-gloss bot. After the sky fell into the ashen rubble, the debris caked into the energon on his fresh wounds as that fragging bot dragged him through the dirt by the wings.

Wait, Starscream, Skywarp-

He jerked his helm to either side, looking around for his trinemates. Thundercracker extended his spark out, an intimate calling for his brother-in-arms in a distress signal to find them. The fine-wired, frequency tendrils he sent forth could only reach so far and as far as they could grab, they were met with nothing and the panic started to settle in.

“Look, Mesothulas, I’m not looking to waste my time here. Are they here or are they not?”

Mesothulas chuckled, his frame language submissive to the bot before him, lowering himself enough to seem harmless, but something slithered behind those smiling optics. “They are, they are. You worry too much. If you keep frowning all the time, no amount of ironing will fix those sullen faceplates of yours.”

“Stay on topic.”

“I am! You’re my favorite topic,” he ignored Prowl to type something into the computer before him, pulling up the cam coverage of the entire building.

Thundercracker narrowed his view to watch the screen, struggling to follow the fast rearranging of the tiles that Mesothulas flipped through.

“What about that thing over there?” Thundercracker couldn’t see Prowl well, but he knew he was talking about him.

“Hm? What thing?” Mesothulas asked innocently, pretending to be ignorant.

A stressed sigh,” the seeker.” He threw his arm back towards Thundercracker to emphasize his point. “I had to pull some serious clearance in order to get this one for you. It better be for something important.”

Another chuckle and the sound of a friendly pat on someone’s shoulder. “Everything I do is important, Prowl, don’t play with me.” The screen switched off and pede-steps approached the cell until the tan-and-purple bot stood before the electric bars. “I’m using him to test the Aequitas chambers.”

The words casually slipped off his glossa while his partner threw a wild look at him, doing a double-take to make sure he heard him correctly.

“The Aequitas- Mesothulas, you told me that wasn’t finished,” Prowl followed behind, the revelation pushing deeper lines in his scowl.

“I finished it this week,” he dismissed the other with a careless tone and a shrug,” I already tested it a few times too.”

“You- …” Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose,” well?”

“Well what?” Mesothulas smiled at him.

“Well, does it work?” he asked with gritted denta, digits sinking deeper into the dips of his face, trying to rub out dents that weren’t there.

A curious “hmm” and a tap against his own mask, Mesothulas played up himself being in thought before answering him,” I want to say yes, but... every frame I was able to get my servos on are not cold constructed, so…” He trailed, letting the other connect the dots.

The message was received, yet tossed to the side. “If you had told me that, I would have gotten any other cold-constructed bot instead of this one.”

“Oh, but he’s perfect, Sweetspark, you have no idea,” he purred as he clasped his servos together endearingly, “a high profile Decepticon in the seeker command with just enough hubris to almost not feel guilty for anything he’s ever done.”

Prowl looked ready to snap back at him before he conceded at the pet name. Though the name wasn’t sweet enough to soften his disposition.

“He’s not just any Decepticon. I’m not particularly fond of the idea of his seeker crew clawing at my dorsal for the rest of this little rebellion.”

While this moment was terse, a breath of relief escaped his vents in knowing that Starscream and Skywarp are at least not here. It didn’t leave much to the imagination to hypothesize if they were being held captive or managed to dodge the attack that grounded him, but he clung to that small hope nevertheless.

There was never enough time in a moment. Thundercracker could hardly revel in the solace before his tranquility was ruined again by Prowl’s short fuse.

“Shockwave and Soundwave are present here and you had me go all the way up to pick up some Seeker? Are you trying to get me killed!?” Prowl nearly shouted at him in
total disbelief at Mesothulas, flustered and inconsolable. “I could have easily gotten those two on the way here instead of walking myself to Kaon to intercept flying bots. May I remind you what kind of-”

“Ah, ah,” Mesothulas waved his digit as if to scold him, the same digit pushing against his lips to silence him,” Shockwave isn’t cold-constructed. Though… I would love it if you could retrieve the other one.” He batted his optics at him, flirting through the ice-cold glare he was getting in return.

“Now, why would I do that? I already-”

The police-bot caught his glossa in a hard stop. Warm, tender servos cupped the shape of his face, thumb-digits caressing out to the outline of his helm. A touch so inviting and intoxicating, Prowl lowered his guard in escape into the other’s EMfield. Charming as one is, a dangerous look lit aflame in Mesothulas’ optics; a predator sizing up his prey. He closed the gap between them, putting them on intimate display, locking his lover in place on his dinner plate. Gentle embrace twisted into a vice grip, capturing Prowl in his hold, watching as the other squirmed in his grasp.

“Please… For me?” he cooed.

Disgusted and uninterested, Thundercracker was busy being swallowed up in the threat looming over his helm. What was an “Aequitas chamber”? What the frag does that have to do with him, or anyone in the Decepticon states? It sounded like a torture machine, but knowing how twisted these laboratories were, he knew he wasn’t in the wrong for fearing for the worst. Some horrible fate beyond his imagination.

Frantic to get out of here only wanting to secure his safety and find his trine, he pulled his servo up high enough to dial Soundwave, trying to get a signal out of him while the two were busy with each other.

The buzz of fluorescent lights clicked on then off in succession during Shockwave’s travel down the corridor, the light staying above him, yet the darkness encasing him.

Lavish, cultured designs dressed the hall completely antagonistic to the mundane decorum from the rest of the building. In opposition to the red-accented tertiary, the color palette favored navy blues with gold edging. The area itself was constructed specifically to architect perfect acoustics that vibrated Petrahexian accents favorably.

Jhiaxus’ certainly wore his achievements with heavy conceit as much as he did boring it into this foundation. Everywhere one would walk, one would see his remnants. His fleeting memory engraved into the wall, the ceiling, even embroidered on the tapestry.

It left a sick taste in the back of Shockwave’s throat.

Anymore, it didn’t necessarily bother him, but hatred is a reflex never forgotten in the throes of mutilation. It was an ache in a servo no longer present: a phantom reflex mimicking a white-knuckled grip; sore in the shoulder that bore the unhindered weight of patronizing affection; and the shallow digit-dents in the soft of his elbow.

The small, fastidious guide never glanced once at him, instead daintily gliding over the white floors to the embezzled office carved into the dead-end off the corridor in one undisturbed trek. A naive mind, groomed proportionally to the unrealistic standards imposed in this pretentious campus. Shockwave didn’t have to acquaint himself intimately with them to know. The fact that was the case was highly unfortunate.

A small panel slid open beside the office door prompting for the visitor to identify themself. The guide’s nervous palm laid flat onto the panel and a puff of air blew back at him that thinly veiled his hiss as a syringe pricked him.

“I always hate doing that,” he coughed up a joke as he tucked his injured hand to his chassis.

It would be a great effort not to notice such an odd security protocol. A deterrent, maybe. More so a deterrent for the fragile like this bot.

“Do you always attend this room?” Shockwave asked.

The bot shivered, not expecting Shockwave to speak to him at all. There was a noticeable lack of optic contact with his superior, not out of nervousness, more akin fear.

Fear of his mutilation. It horrified him and sent chills throughout his EMField.

“I- I do, yes. Routine maintenance,” he answered, stumbling all over his words.

A visible roll in his optic, the lens flaring out as he did. Even in his absence, Jhiaxus’ vanity didn’t desist. “A student of his, I presume?”

“Yes, sir, er- I! I mean I was until he went on his sabbatical… Not- not that means anything. I’m studying under another until he returns,” the poor bot struggled to find the correct words as he didn’t want to offend this beast before him.

“Pity.”

Startled, the guide curled away from his words as if he were scolded, failing to properly entertain his sire.

An obvious tension in his posture, the guide slipped inside, not wanting to trouble this beast anymore, very clearly afraid that the other would slash him open and let his complex spill out on the marble tile.

Shockwave allowed himself inside close behind him, letting the door lock them in together. The tiny bot kept obediently forward, focused on the floor at his pedes. His shoulders shaking before his face met the sight he was staring down, his body collapsing after himself.

In one large sweep, Shockwave captured the light-weight onto his cannon before discarding him into the corner, tucking his knees into his chassis, allowing his helm to rest upon them as he dreamed.

Looking down at his own servo, Shockwave wondered why he spared him any mercy, but he had no time to contemplate philosophies before he went digging in this sacred laboratory. He helped himself to soiling these treasured masterpieces carefully laid out on the table with his tainted touch. Monuments and grand sculptures of defining experiments sitting out before him in an array of descending floors until the descent ended on a chaste circle in the hollowed pit, possessing a grandiose statue of the bot himself. Key in hand. Not any one key, but a metaphorical representation of Vector Sigma; the key to Primus’ dark heart.

How fitting he could almost laugh, disgusted.

As grand as this lab was, it was all but short of being gutted. With some bot as lowly as the one who attended him, Shockwave had assumed this lab was purely theatric. To stay as a placeholder for an owner that’ll never return.

A warm, wet liquid seeped into the inseams of his arm, caressing the breaks where his frame met itself in an edge. He jerked his shoulder forward with him looking down at an arm that was no longer there and the phantom energon that dripped off of it. His gaze corrected the blurry haze back to the sight of his cannon and the energon that didn't exist dirtying the encasing.

“Are you certain this is what you want to settle with?” Megatron asked with that dulce tone of his; the unbecoming professional tenderness that only held place for diplomacy.

“I’m certain. I didn’t stutter,” Shockwave looked down at his left servo, flexing the digits,” I will need a formidable replacement for the war to come.” He lied.

It wasn’t so much a white lie to flatter Megatron, as it was a lie for himself. The triumph of his timely betrayal webbed deeply into his tactile synapse. A visceral and greedy victory of freshly adorned, light purple claws dug into the filth of Jhiaxus’ vocal chord, clawing itself through his maximal until it sliced the vulnerable surface of his brain node.

A victory not well worn for, if he were to murder, he would never lower himself to the beast he was in the moment ever again. His five-pointed trophy laid encased away as it was replaced with something appropriate to his newly founded violent nature. A filthy reminder of his indulgent mistake. It was large, clunky, but efficient. It could kill plenty from a distance with a clean, cauterizing death. A heat-death painful enough to humble grounders and harsh enough to tame Phase-Sixers. It was an upgrade, if anything.

He lied to himself.

Now standing before this dead-bot’s final resting place, he helped himself to disemboweling his memory the same way he tore the metal from his throat until he dug to the heart of his person. Files among files, secret latch between secret latches, he cleaned out what hadn't already been strategically removed from this lab until he found it:

The contingencies of Vector Sigma.

Shockwave’s final remarks before his mutilation and henceforth, his name forever lovingly replaced by his predecessor who reaped the most benefit out of Shockwave’s mistakes.

Jhiaxus’ Petrahexian handwriting crudely appended over Shockwave’s sincere Crystal City scrawl. Luckily, he could still read the important notes he left for himself along with the attached blueprints of Vector Sigma itself. His most important feat as a student of the college in mapping out each vein and artery of what the others would call “Primus”.

He cared not for this metaphysical, intangible concept that was living and breathing beneath his pedes: dying. No thanks to the ineffectual, self-appointed hierarchy of primes pushing for worthless agendas at the cost of Cybertron. Not that Shockwave cared much for this “Primus'' other than the helpful tool he was at capitulating Autobots, but regardless of his thoughts, its heart was the life source of the planet. Having not been an explorer, he had inadequate information of extraterrestrial planetary similars to Cybertron that can sustain enough energon for a population well within the trillions. So, the only logical conclusion was to make use of this wasting god in its final moments, or otherwise perish to the natural deficient of elements.

A light-blue glint peered from the corner beneath his stack of papers, distracting him from this thoughts. He thumbed the corner of his curled stack to reveal a large-scale, complex diagram of what seemed to be a portal. A simple hexagon with what looked like a podium seated in the center of it.

The AEQUITAS CHAMBER: a guilt-detecting, non-sentient arbitrator

It read across the top in Jhiaxus’ ugly manuscript. Shockwave narrowed his yellow-indicator into a thin line at this. A stray leaflet purposefully buried away underneath the large stack. Nothing more than a rudimentary design with little construct other than hypotheses littering the edges of the document with a few more papers of randomly written dialogue Jhiaxus had with himself over it.

Highly irrelevant to Shockwave’s intent, he placed it aside on the table for a clear viewing to the guest behind him, who oh-so welcomingly held the warm barrel of a laser gun to the small of Shockwave’s back.

“I assume you were looking for this,” he stated plainly as if he were too consumed by his work to even entertain the one holding him hostage.

“No, but thank you for finding it for me,” Prowl responded, thrusting the gun into the plating, trying to get any sort of reaction out of him.

“You must have been looking for him, then.”

Prowl swallowed thickly, unprepared to confront an empty-servoed Shockwave and with lost expectation of Soundwave's incapacitated corpse to be in here with him, “I was.”

“Don’t sound so dispirited, you did find him,” Shockwave said as he produced a small tracker in the palm of his open servo, the light beeping faintly with flakes of blue paint clinging to the damaged prongs. Prowl's optics widened, watching as the tracker be crushed into pieces and tumbled from between Shockwave's digits onto the floor beside him. ”Congratulations.”

The regret immediately seeped in with the terrific realization that Prowl didn't lock Shockwave in here, rather, he locked himself in here with Shockwave.

Chapter Text

The bright room, once alight with colors, fell behind an array of red errors shouting in Prowl’s face. His vision crowning a blackness in his peripherals. His arm shielded his face in preparation of any offense as he struggled to find his balance against the floor. Prowl could feel the uneven step of Shockwave circling around him like a large predator encompassing its prey. He had halted his assault, watching and waiting for Prowl to react stupidly into his next attack.

All Prowl’s expensive police training had prepared him for this, but he underestimated the position Shockwave sat at, assuming that a scientist with an ill-placed weapon arrangement would be no more a threat than a barbarian with a support beam. Perhaps the gimmick of Shockwave’s unassuming nature is part of his tactic; one that Prowl has immediately grown to loathe.

“For a prisoner, you’re sure not asking a lot of questions,” Prowl stalled, trying to grasp some sort of control over his situation.

“I already know the answer to half of my questions. The rest will not come from you,” Shockwave took another turn around Prowl before raising the cannon to Prowl’s chest, nestling the blunt edge to his white chassis as it warmed to its potential.

All heat left Prowl’s spark chamber, it’s radiance sinking into the depths of himself. The heat fueled his pipes, empowering him with enough strength to grab the scorching edge and shove it to the side, throwing Shockwave off balance. 

This move allowed enough space for Prowl to raise his pistol and fire one poorly aimed shot to anything solid on his offender’s frame before he collided with the table behind him. Though as quick as he shot, he was not fast enough to dodge the plasma beam that cleaned out his side. The table’s edge provided just enough balance to keep him upright, despite the gorging empty space in his side. A hollowed gap webbing with fresh energon took from his strength to hold him up. 

One shot after another, he held his arm rigid enough for disarming bolts towards Shockwave’s helm until he realized most of those shots were scraping him. 

It terrified him.

The fuel-filled fear of nearly losing his lower half caught up to him and now the sight of an non-fearing civilian bot was something unseen in his profession. There was comfort in Seeker theatrics and fumbling cowardice that at least the evasion of their slick movements allow him the room to breathe. 

Shockwave, however, didn’t possess the frame to be evasive. It was evident that he was unconcerned with low-grade, concentrated ion blasts on bare metal. He was unfeeling.

But, Prowl didn’t have option of choice. Nor the strength to run away before the wipe sweep of Shockwave’s plasma cannon got the better of him and the horror that would become of him should he be the next victim of Shockwave's morbid interest.

Drawing a careful, shaky breath he aimed lower for anything that would matter at this point. A couple more untrained shots into dense plating until he hit the soft of his shoulder. With a loud pop, the ruptured fuseline coughed out the energon down the arm of his obscene cannon. The barrel’s edge sputtered a dying light when its loading sequence was abruptly halted. 

Another breath, he raised his arms up to align the height of it to Shockwave’s chest. A final shot to his spark. Maybe it won’t make it all the way through, but it would be enough to deter him.

He would hope, at least.

Though through the limits of his stunted vision, he didn’t recognize the loss of depth and how close Shockwave was, nor did he notice the wide swing of Shockwave’s arm before it collided with his helm. 

He shot a closing shot, concentrated plasma scraping the top edge of Shockwave’s chassis before Prowl, himself, was parallel to the floor. 

“F-,” he choked, watching those pedes walk closer to him,” please- don’t.”

Whether or not the words made it to Shockwave was unknown before the final swing of his executioner's blade.

“Soundwave… Soundwave, please, you have to get up.”

A pair of cold servos pressed against his arm, shaking with urgency to awaken him. 

Soundwave groaned, reaching over to affirm these hands and felt nothing. His arm was cold, untouched by niceties. 

“Oh thank Primus you are alive. Soundwave, over here, look at me,” the voice called to his left. Head swimming, the blue-bot followed the noise to the sight of the pristine Seeker, battered up on his beautiful frame, sitting locked like a bird in a cage. 

The voice lock in the back of Soundwave’s throat readied a response before Thundercracker silenced him with a loud mental shush.

“Don’t speak. I don’t know where he’s at. I’m speaking through your brain, your spark, whatever that thing is that you do.”

Soundwave looked at him quizzically, not sure who he was talking about, but damn if he didn’t suspect Shockwave first before anyone else. 

The shift in his expression asked “how”. He wasn’t sure if he was still in Crystal City, or if he was, how Thundercracker was here at all. Were they back at base? He didn’t hear nor feel the roaring engines beneath Kaon’s main tower. It wouldn’t make sense that they went back home because otherwise it would have been Starscream to greet him and not his brother. 

“I know you have a bunch of questions, but right now we have to get out before he comes back," the Seeker outline carefully, unsure if Soundwave was conscious enough to understand him. 

Who?  Soundwave squeezed his vision shut. An irritation blossomed out of the exhaustion along with the painful weight on the back of his neck. He could nearly cuss out Thundercracker for being so vague and unhelpful. Who the frag is he talking about?

“Damnit, he’s here. Stay dead, or whatever, and maybe he’ll skip right over us,” Thundercracker said hurriedly before turning away.

“I know you’re awake, Soundwave, I saw your vitals go online,” the coddling voice cooed at him from the darkness right before the lights turned on. 

A click followed by rows of halogen lights lit the room bright. Soundwave's sensitive sights were violated by the brightness and induced another growing headache in him. The pain knocked him forward to avoid it, but the restraint around his neck snapped him back against the wall. He coughed, realizing that he couldn’t avoid the sight of neither the room nor his captor, who eventually sauntered in front of him.

“I can see why you’re third-in-command and not second,” he squatted down to meet Soundwave optic-to-optic,” you’re pretty easy to get ahold of for someone so important.”

Soundwave narrowed his visor towards Mesothulas as if he were spitting in his direction. 

“Query: what do you want,” he asked with no more interest than Mesothulas was interested in answering. 

“So forward. So direct. I think I like you,” Mesothulas caressed the archway to the cell with his thumb-digit, the red hues of the cell laser rods washing his muted colors away, “Where are your manners? You didn’t even ask me how my day was before you cut straight to asking me out.” 

It was all Soundwave could do to not roll his optics. These politicians and scientists talk too much, it drives him mad. It almost made him miss Shockwave’s curt attitude.

Shockwave.

That bastard.

“Where is he?” Soundwave asked again.

Mesothulas, having far too much fun watching the other struggling like a dog on his leash, snapped back to his senses when the other asked such an odd question.

“Where is who?” he raised a brow.

“Don’t,” Soundwave snarled his warning,” Shockwave.”

Lifting himself off the archway, Mesothulas folded his arms prettily against his chassis, thinking to himself as he sauntered over to the table in front of them. “Right now? He’s fetching something for me. Don’t worry, your conjunx will be back soon,” he snickered out the last bit of his reply, very much mocking the idea of it.

Biting back behind his mask, a surge of electricity struck violently throughout his complex. A million thoughts in all the building and all Soundwave could hear were the heartless confirmations of his fears being realized. 

Shockwave did bring him here to die.

And, who next? Megatron? No, the trine obviously. He already had one locked up in place next to him.

Before Soundwave could even open his mouth to reply, his jaw locked in place, held hostage by soft servos cradling the underside of his head. A deep frown settled into his face, but only displayed itself by the tension of his faceplate shifting disapprovingly. 

“I know that you’re itching to see him again, but we don’t have time for you to bite his antennae off. I need you and your little winged friend over there to help me with something,” he said.

A bitter taste settled into Soundwave’s palette. The discourteous way the other talked to him as if he were a sparkling was getting under his plates more than he’d like to admit. The attitude of him hiding everything under tonal shifts and loving gestures caressed an impulsive ferocity into the twitches of his digits. 

His wrists fought at his bounds in the floor, muscular cords flexed against the titanium that dug into the insulated pipeage in return. 

Mesothulas noticed his futile fight with the restraints and clicked his denta. “Ah. Behave yourself. You’re only going to hurt yourself if you fight me like this,” he scolded him. 

Soundwave held a snarl in his throat, not wanting to admit his vulnerability. Looking up at this spider-faced bot, he stared at the reflection of himself in those red-tinted lense. How bent out of shape he was. It was unlike him. 

Get it together . He chided himself. 

“Good boy,” Mesothulas praised him when the other settled down. He had released his lover’s cradle on him and backed out into the clearing, letting the cell-bars reload into place. “Back to what I was talking about, I need the two of you for an experiment of mine. Thankfully, Senator Shockwave has been so nice as to allow me to use some of his new Decepticon friends…”

The rest of his grand speech dissolved into a jumble of irrelevant verbiage. Mesothulas paced around the palatial lab, really allowing himself to his captive audience.

That’s pathetic, Soundwave thought.

Neck tied back against the wall, Soundwave had a clear viewing of Mesothulas wherever he walked. The way that he slid around the many tables in the center and around the empty cells on the other side. Soundwave was unconcerned with reading his thoughts, he could only take one overzealous dialogue at a time, but though all that yammering, he noticed the acoustics of the room. It vibrated from the edges towards the center. A circular infrastructure with no escape point for the noise.

He muttered a quiet “sorry” for Thundercracker, one he knew he couldn’t hear, but the sentiment was there. Soundwave waited until Mesothulas walked in the middle of all the tables that circled the center before unclipped his stereo wedges and emitted the loudest, most intrusive frequency he could muster with the little strength he had left. 

It was an aggressively invasive squeal, loud enough to shake through the complex of the recipients. All the beakers and glass screens shattered when the noise rippled through until it hit his target in a condensed blast. 

All waves crashed into Mesothulas in the center, his body twitching at first before an audible blowback from him screamed. A mental acknowledgement in high density trying to sift through the noise maze that was created. 

The blast threw Soundwave flush against the wall again, his audials pierced by the noise, narrowly escaping by the warm of energon pooling the cavities. He was disoriented. He fought the restraints so he could retreat into the comfort of his own touch, but everything cut into the bindings until more energon spilled down over the white of his thighs and colored the floor a sweet pink. 

His anger bit at him and bit hard. He wasn’t thinking clearly anymore.

Mesothulas stood still in the center, the gears turning in his head to recollect himself. His mouth closed while his attention shifted to Soundwave. No more talk, he walked straight to him and reached in between the bars and yanked Soundwave off the hook. His arms burned against the laser beams, yet it was not enough to deter him as he slammed Soundwave's face into them, letting the metal melt into heat.

“Now, like I was saying before you decided to be such a hassle,” Mesothulas stood himself up, shrugging off the encounter as if some dog slobbered on his servo,” I need some help from the two of you.” The metal on his arms were scorched from the bars, parts of it melting that he promptly shrugged off. 

He helped himself to the adjacent cell, peering in over the pitiful sight of Thundercracker being pinned against the floor with his wings hung up like caught fish on a hook. The seeker sat very still, his mind in disarray from the blast and his stomach churning. 

“You, doll, I think I will use you first. I feel as if you have been sitting long enough,” he deactivated the cell beams, letting the lasers drop into the holes of the floor to allow him to get a much better look at Thundercracker.

A dainty servo grabbed the back of Thundercracker’s collar and unhooked it from the stabilizer in the floor holding him still. Yielding freely to his sadism, he wrenched the seeker against the hooks, letting his wings pull against the binds on the ceiling until they contorted at an impossible angle. Thundercracker screamed in anguish, his body desperately trying to correct itself from the pain.

“Don’t cry, you won’t need these where you’re going.”

Thundercracker didn't listen and continued to scream, his body fighting against Mesothulas.

[Stop] 

Soundwave pleaded with him. His own pain subsided at the feeling of Thundercracker's pain. 

A weak cackle,” Decepticons can feel sympathy?” 

Mesothulas didn’t spare a glance at Soundwave as he continued to pull Thundercracker out of his cell, letting the weak points on his hinge bear the brunt of the hooks yanking against it. He tried to keep his denta together, but he couldn’t stop his own shrieks. 

[I said STOP ]

…

Mesothulas’ servo stopped and eventually he dropped the other from his grasp. The pitiful thing falling back against the scratched metal of the cell, contorting every which way to fix himself. 

A threatening silence sat between Mesothulas and Soundwave as Thundercracker choked on his pain. 

“So you think you’re cute, hm,” Mesothulas finally turned around. Pink streaks lined both sides of his helm and down his chassis, dirtying the dark purple spider inscription on his plates. “Real funny too.”

A thin veil shadowed Mesothulas’ optics, a loud emotion crawling beneath those red lenses, but its famous beauty contorted into something confusing. It spoke volumes in a language Soundwave didn’t know, but he was familiar with the onset of rage that edged it.

He didn’t care. It might have been the maternal instincts speaking, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Thundercracker, even if it meant his life. That was his promise.  

“I do,” he replied back with an ounce of snark, fully embracing the trouble he had set himself in.

Mesothulas started to laugh. Ugly. A cough in his spark driven by the pain that ached within his body from Soundwave’s mind breaking prowess. 

“Well, who am I to deny you an even better laugh then,” he said shakily.

It was unsure whether he was laughing or wheezing at this point. Both of those guttural noises mixing together into delighted sputtering as he grabbed a rod off the table next to him. He flicked his elbow to open it to its full length, the edge splitting into a claw with a light-blue streak of static dancing between the two tips. 

No smartass remarks were to be had when Mesothulas jabbed it into Thundercracker first to give it a test run. Or to threaten Soundwave. His optics were wide as if he could take in anymore of the sight before him and get an even better look at Soundwave’s anguished face as he tortured this seeker.

Thundercracker screamed again, caught off guard by the pain of the shock and his body convulsing against it. It was brief. No more than 5 seconds before the seeker fell on the floor, twitching in recovery. 

“See, ha ha, funny, isn’t it?” Mesothulas coughed again, slowly becoming incoherent. More energon pooled out of his helm onto his frame, dressing him in two thick strands of pink silk. “Why aren’t you laughing? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

He limped closer. Soundwave looked into his optics and noticed that his focal charges were darting side-to-side, struggling to center their focus on the blue bot in front of them. 

He opened his mouth to let out another concentrated charge to deter him but the second he sung the first note, Mesothulas was quick to shut him up with the charge prod, square in the chassis plate, letting the electricity scab the proud sigil on his chest and penetrate to his spark chamber underneath. 

It wasn’t enough to offline him and Mesothulas made sure of that.

He pulled back and sent another harsh shock through him to thoroughly disable his physical capacities. Soundwave’s body falling limp against his will, just enough he won’t fight back when Mesothulas yanked him off the wall and his binds. 

His body was heavy, yet Mesothulas was with enough strength to heave him into the upright prisoner’s chair. Letting the many binds latch him in place.

“I’m tired of wasting time,” Mesothulas lifted his wrist to call someone.

The sight of him blurring and fading. Soundwave was with just enough wits to catch a final glimpse of two large bots coming in to roll him out, Mesothulas trudging behind. 

Chapter Text

To the Decepticons, this was war.

To the Autobots, this was a petulant rebellion.

A couple of inter-factional disputes —contentious politics really— between the then-Orion Pax and the late Nova Prime. Somewhere in the mix blossomed a revolutionary by the name of “Megatron”, rising out of the scorched pits of Kaon to reclaim destiny for bots less fortunate. A miner-turned-gladiator-turned-commander, truly a resume of impressive feats never seen in combination ever.

For a time, Prowl acknowledged the sheer magnetism written into the sentiments penned by this “Megatron”. The language of his manifesto was bold, enticing, with an alluring quality that funneled anarchy into those complacent under the abuse of the Primacy. He thought himself one of the million in this crowd, having been a grounder with thoughts and ambitions that went beyond the trait of his caste. Though, these missives were only passive wants and desires of the conscious; he didn’t think Megatron’s tidings to be anything special. Not that he was ever at the mercy of the underground mines, toiling away for every speck of raw energon this planet had to offer, but didn’t all bots want more in their lives? There was never a moment Prowl wasn’t at the beck-and-call of a mech socially deemed more worthy than himself. Plenty of patrol bots held yearning for grander things, but truth be told, it was only natural that the masses followed power and conviction. This meant preserving the necessary founding of dignity and fairness for Cybertron under some other’s jurisdiction.

The transition from Nova to Optimus was an abrupt, yet welcomed, change that forced Prowl to reassess his core values.

A veil had been lifted from his cyan optics, illuminating the subject of unfairness that had long been foisted upon all bots in the living era. This fascinating concept that a mech was more than his make and his destiny shouldn’t have to be predetermined by his outward characteristics. The epitome of kindness which blankets all beneath in abject fairness.

However, a pitfall of harrowing indifference remains fixed into Prowl’s personality, completely circumventing any shared sentiment with his bleeding spark peers. All this “justice” was more so a “no shit” line of thinking. All bots deserve to attain personal heights, it should have been granted to them a long time ago. Lift those bans, pass those bills, move along.

Not that he’d ever could relate to those crushed under thumb of a system that actively worked against them. Prowl’s dreams were simple. After all, he has never dreamed a life outside of doing what he was designed to do best: patrolling the streets of Iacon City, burning in thick black tire bands over metallic backlit roads with nothing before him but the skyscrapers that crowned the sky and the sun setting between the twin moons.

He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The Autobot Primacy flipped an untouched switch under the guiding light of Optimus Prime. All efforts very much against the tradition and precedent of God Primus himself, Optimus challenged every facet of Cybertronian culture with total inspiration from that Kaon Revolutionary— his enticing ideals like a stubborn stain on the Prime’s judgment.

And yet, despite all those “honoring” accommodations, the Decepticons continued with unrest.

Pure greed. That’s all it had to be. Megatron and his pathetic mismatched lot he called an “army” wanted more than they were graciously given.

It started at the edges of Vos and Kaon, behaving like a virulent pathogen seeding its tendrils throughout all the colonies adjacent to them, perpetuating their obscene propaganda for more. More and more. Prowl forever couldn’t understand why they could never just be satisfied with what they were handed. What did that so-called “humble poet” want so badly that he forced the servo of every weary, overworked cold-construct grunt to wield the warm barrel of charge rays and touchy detonators?

Prowl thinks all about this (often), but right now, he’s finding that he cannot think of anything at all.

Wrists bound overhead with this arms to contorting unnaturally within their sockets, Prowl hung mere inches off the ground.

It was a tease to his mind to feel gravity sag him towards the floor and how if he stretched his pede just enough, he could balance atop it. Yet, he had no strength to do so. Energon pooled beneath his frame, thickening the dark shadow created by the spotlight overhead. Each steady drip leaking from his unattended wounds traveled in thin lines over the valleys of his lower extremities, draining whatever resource he had left in him onto the ground.

It would have been easy to move beyond the humiliation of being strung up like an animal for slaughter. In a room so dark, he was allowed a smidge of dignity from passersby.

But, that wasn’t really the problem, was it?

The middle of him was split open with the metal furling back in curls on either side, exposing a thin layer of metal mesh withholding all those delicate alloys and circuitry hooked into to his coils and his spark casing. A lattice so thin, like a sheer curtain obstructing view of his innards. The metal plate that served as the ventral belly of his chassis was discarded elsewhere, carefully placed on some stainless steel table slightly out of sight, mocking him.

Whatever aches eased into this wrists from the suspension was far overwhelmed by the chilling agony of his midsection exposed to cold air; naked to all elements. His non-carbon viscera pulsed under light that should have never reached it, and his spark lost its rhythmic hum under the anxiety.

For all those vorns he chastised Megatron and his lowly caste, in spite of Optimus’ persistent chiding, Prowl walked himself into the neutrally-aligned servos of a bot no different than the Decepticons they both distastefully spat on. On servo and knee, he served him, near worshipped him, and in especially tender moments he promised his life to him. It just never occurred to him that his words would be put to the test.

Yet, he still loved him, even. Would still do everything for him.

And, he’d do it again. Over and over. Forever cultivating this high, stemming from assumed equal respect and understanding.

It is a maddening process of being seen and seeing. Being used and using. Loved and loving. Their mutually beneficial contract roused and satiated many facets of their overlapping livelihoods in ways this police bot has never experienced before in his cushy life in Iacon City.

Maybe that was the point. To fall for a perfect illusion spun together by a brilliant scientist leagues more clever than him. That’s what it has to be. Body laid bare to the world, as well his mind, as he begs the search of clarity, to seek an answer that he’ll never receive for a question never asked: was lust and love really worth all this pain?

A stupid bot driven on impulse and desire, just like- just like-

“Look at me.”

Somewhere between all the ringing and audial static, that distilled flat-toned voice beckoned Prowl’s attention. There wasn’t any time to leer his gaze to it before a dull scalpel stabbed itself firmly into delicate the proto-flesh keeping his spark chamber centered.

His optics flickered on contact, throat beholding a scream that would not release.

Energon and solvent pooled into the thin cracks between the glass and the sockets, clogging up the fine metal comprising his iris-lens from adjusting his view of his captor. Whenever it appeared that he was making no effort to match attention to Shockwave —by Primus he was trying his damnedest—, that damned mech shoved the scalpel deeper, threatening to separate the connective metal tissue that meshed over Prowl’s coils.

“I’m trying my fraggin’ hardest, you troglo- guh,” Prowl hacks the energon lining his throat, dirtying Shockwave’s lavender-white thigh with pink splatter.

And, Shockwave stared, unmoved. Unrelenting.

As if anything could provoke a reaction out of him anymore. During in the Golden Era, when this monochrome purple mech plastered himself in saturated tri-toned palettes and a winning smile, Prowl thought it easy to push each bright red button of Shockwave’s nerves. A bot on top of the world with everything to say and nothing to hide.

How unfortunate it was when they ripped his helm off his shoulders, peeled back the cranial alloy, and scavenged that intelligent brain nodule into a single-screen torture box. All of that perfect vanity, all that pristine beauty, gone. The only remaining relic of Crystal City’s greatest was the namesake of “Shockwave” sans “senator”.

Save for the excellent ability to solve equations and manage the research institute, the Senate might as well admit they killed the senator and replaced him with a living insult to his illustrious image.

Ejecting the scalpel from Prowl’s innards, the unsharpened blade traveled up the warpath that used to be Prowl’s enclosed body, seeking destination over the metal column serving as Prowl’s throat. It halted its track halfway to curve where his helm attached to his neck, angling up towards his mandible, daring the tip into the soft underside of the Autobot’s head. “Encouragement” to keep his helm steady, so that they may have civil conversation.

“What is your purpose here, Autobot?” Shockwave asks.

Prowl, with shockingly little coherence, dented his facial plates into a worthwhile smirk,” same as you — with my lover-”

Energon sprayed over the left wall from a sturdy right-hook to the cheek and Prowl is pretty sure parts of his face became freeform decorum with it.

“I’m telling you the fragging truth! Rust in the Pits, Shockwave,” he flexed his freshly misaligned jaw.

Returning the blade to Prowl’s throat, Shockwave forgoes the gentle curve of his under-helm and instead aims for the pretty silver of that throat.

He tries again, “what is Mesothulas working on in here?”

The Autobot scoffs, licking away the bitter taste of fluid from the crown his denta,” like I’d know.”

“He keeps you ignorant,” Shockwave cants his helm towards the side, searching for an edge to that attitude,” so, you only follow orders blindly. No different than you do for anyone else.”

A rogue knee involuntarily strikes upwards, aiming for any piece of that purple frame and praying that it’ll land.

It misses by a hair, much to Prowl’s regret.

“My business here with Mesothulas stands outside of the Autobot cause,” he refutes, near breathlessly as his body swung kinetically from his failed reflex.

“You stand above the Primacy?”

“Never.”

“You’re not aligned with the Autobot cause then.”

Prowl scowls.

Blasphemous, careless accusations warmed his plating. His rotors spun faster along with all the circuits within his complex overclocking under agitation. The hotter he ran, the faster his cables processed, the thicker that band of bright-pink energon ruptured from him, spilling down over his thighs and into the growing puddle on the floor.

The red warning screens ceased some time ago, leaving his view-space clear and full of a purple hexagonal helm staring down on him.

He figures the failures spawned from whatever was brutally slotted into the base of his metal skull, disabling all useful telecommunications between his conscious spark and the circuits in his body. A level above total loss of full-frame functionality. How generous, he muses. It was a miracle that he could make his digits twitch, but the rest of his body seemed to act on its own; attempting to auto-repair, to survive, without so much a master to guide it.

“You’re trying to rile me up… It’s not going to work, Decepticon,” Prowl taunts.

A near-silent cycle vented from Shockwave. Incorrect guess. “The faster you give me the information I want, the more likely I’ll grant you the chance to recover.”

The Decepticon turned his attention to a small box fixed on a tall silver stand. A pale green wavelength pulsed erratically amongst all the fluctuating diagnostics over the glossy black screen; the numbers a clutter of floats and random integers. “You have about 20 kliks before you’re drained of all your energon.”

He returned taunt and viewed it to be a sufficient threat. If this bot was worth the stock the intercepted Autobot comm-lines state he is, he’ll reconsider his position. Or, die stupidly in the name of patriotism. His choice.

On the other end, Prowl refused to believe that his frame would give so easily, like some miracle would grace him and he’ll magically retain a modicum of fluid to warm his spark.

Stubborn persistence, he clung to it.

“I’ll ask again: what is Mesothulas working on here?” Shockwave pushed his blade into first metal layer that kept him out and all of Prowl’s air in, energon beading over the wound as a response.

Prowl hissed, stretching his body long to avoid he pinprick incision, evading the pain, capturing what control he can over himself against the other. “I don’t know,” he sighs.

A servo captures his shoulder, steadying him on the hook and forcing him to endure punishment for such petulance.

That tiny bleeding poke started to peel into an uneven slice, no thanks to Prowl’s fussing. “What did he want Soundwave for?” Shockwave asks.

“Ch-hff—” a wheeze escaped from both Prowl’s mouth and his throat, unable to cycle air properly through his ventilation. “Truly, truly- I don’t know.”

“You tracked him. For what?” Shockwave didn’t bother to neither dispute nor refute him. His line of questioning escalated in insistence until he found anything that Prowl wanted to admit he knew.

“Mesothulas,” another painful cycle of air,” he wanted him. I-… Instructed me to get him.”

“Yes,” Shockwave nodded with attenuated praise before the entire rhombus of the blade disappeared into the fresh slot in his throat,” for what?”

Unable to feign endurance, Prowl’s mouth fell open with a gurgle and chuffed scream. All the misery smothered under a flood of energon pooling his trachea, down into this systems, clogging his vocal box and all tubing that required open space to operate. In a mindless haze, his lips mouthed words with no air to speak, praying, begging for the will to withstand all this torment.

Nothing useful is to be had with a dry bot drowning on himself.

Shockwave ripped the blade from his throat, orchestrating Prowl’s second scream— a screeching oscillation of agony. It echoed off the walls, down the hallway, vanishing into the emptiness. It returned carrying a reverb of anguish. Against all willingness, the white mech’s body seized against the chains that bound him, his body twisting and turning with all the reflexes of his kicks and jerks. His legs attempting to climb up an invisible mountain, swim to the top of these nonexistent waters, bob his head over the surface to the other side where he was safe and unharmed.

It was a handful of minutes before his thrashing ceased, helm dropping forward, lulling over the top edge of his exposed chassis. Energon dripped from all orifices in his facial plating and the newly created one centered in his throat, which gaped greedily for fresh air.

Claws cradled that helm with the fine-tips scratching into white paint. Very unlike Mesothulas’ loving grasp, these claws forced Prowl’s head upwards despite his helm fighting the gesture.

“Last chance.”

Prowl stared hard into that singular optic, seeing nothing but the burnt orange coils spinning about the middle drenched in yellow light. Indignation was his master driving his morale straight to the grave and he did nothing to stop it.

Parting his lips, he whistled the first clicks of his last insult— only for it to be replaced by his own high frequency screech.

Autobot defiance was a fickle, yet obvious trait that all of them seem to have and Shockwave was growing tired of it. Sidelining Prowl’s final remarks, all 5 of his clawed digits jabbed into the belly of that pettish bot, entering through the unshelled middle of his chassis, then flexing open into the tangle of thin cables and wires already strung taut by the bot’s hanging.

“THE- the- Aequitas- It’s the Aequitas- AGH, frag—” Prowl gulped whatever stale dust-thickened air he could. Only to expel it all out when Shockwave pushed in again, digging deeper into his ventral belly, demonstrating the horrors he wishes to impose on the other.

There’s only moments left before Prowl is to be totally useless to him, so Shockwave followed the line of urgency.

“What does he want with it?”

Prowl’s face twists,” I-” He wanted to plead ignorance, keep sacred the information Mesothulas divulged to him, but something in that cold dead optic instilled a special fear in him, numbing him into mindlessly following his instruction. “… He wants to sell it to the Autobots.”

An unlikely buyer, Shockwave notes, but he sees the potential.

“For what purpose?”

“Tch- I truly- truly don’t know. It’s some ‘judgement’ machine, that’s all I know. I don’t know what use Optimus would have for it- To me.. All Decepticons are guilty by nature- please, please, don’t, no-no more.”

Locked into his own prejudice, Shockwave finds he has no choice but to assume that Prowl shares no moral basis with Mesothulas. Therefore, completely unaware of how that second-tier brat might even try to market such a near-useless thing. By virtue of all scientists, it was safe to assume that the Autobots were not the only stakeholders that could be bought, either, just the highest paying ones.

Shockwave eased the grip he stowed away within the Autobot, dislodging his pink-slick digits out just enough to expose his first knuckles to the air. The tips of his digits caressed the bottom round edge of Prowl’s spark casing, invoking a shiver throughout his complex.

“Where is it? In this building?”

Prowl tried to shake his head.

“Tell me and I’ll let you go,” he repeats, mimicking an artificial gentleness into his voice.

In Prowl’s stupor, he almost tricked himself into believing the pitch change in Shockwave’s coercion.

“Beneath the building,” Prowl admits. Anything at this point to free himself from that accursed grip wrist-deep, keeling to deliver that fatal blow.

The Intelligence officer paused thoughtfully without the slightest animation to his frame, leaving Prowl to brace around the intrusion of this foreign appendage in anticipation; with fear.

“What’s powering it?”

“…” Prowl flinches, angling his helm away as he says in a smaller, weaker voice,” I don’t know. Really, I don’t.”

All sound fell away into the thinning silence of the room, leaving space for the audible click of Shockwave’s antennae flexing backwards then forwards. When it was clear there was nothing left to salvage from this mangled thing, the torturous servo slipped out of Prowl’s belly. Carelessly, it sliced cables with coagulated webs of energon following its exit, painting the pretty white lower of his captive in his own filth. It stuck to Shockwave, filling full the cracks and crevices up this elbow, coating him full of Prowl.

Ineffectual as torture usually is, Shockwave felt confident in what little answers he received and aimed to leave this place, permitting this other’s fate up to whatever soft-bellied interns will happen upon this office.

“Wait.”

Solvent filled optics raised their weary glance with a refraction of cyan.

He loved Mesothulas.

Mesothulas would never look for him.

Optimism took its exit at the beginning of this exchange and all that stupid, blind hope Autobots loved to have went with it. He’s made it far enough in this life without having to drop on his knees and grovel before another, but he is quickly finding that he will lose his game if he doesn’t discard every shred of pride he had to this unfeeling machine.

All his cards were stacked on a losing pile and all he can do is hope the winning card was placed on top.

“It’s not too late.”

Shockwave pauses his step, helm shifting towards his right shoulder in attention.

Prowl feels that uninterested pushback, yet continues,” the Empurata…. It’s not too late to reverse that.”

A sputtering, dying cough left him, discoloring the edges of his mouth white to pink,” your welds are still fresh and your frame can be salvaged. And- Pits- I’ll even beg for them to reinstate your license.”

“They?”

“The... Autobot Council. I know- you don’t care about them, but­— Your license. Never mind. Your funding- that’s what you want, I can get you funding for those projects and all your patents. That is why you’re here. Is it not?”

Still, silent, unreadable as ever. Prowl couldn’t gauge if he was selling his way out or his way to the grave. Beneath all that pain, he searched his mind for anything worthwhile and threw it towards this void to see if it would stick. Which was then, he remembered something so very important.

“I’ll get you one last chance with Optimus,” he hitches his breath, Prime’s name tasting of sin.

The world stood still for moments, waiting on Shockwave, waiting on Prowl. The axis on which it turned screeched to a halt on the wheels of time. Death slipped in, its door cracking open, impatient and waiting for its new resident. The Autobot felt the essence of his spark spill into the air, his frame cooling.

Only then did the holding hook’s maw snap open, dropping all the dead weight hinged in its grip. The Autobot contents crumbled into a nasty pile over all the oil and energy congealed on the floor, soiling itself with itself, looking no different than metallic discard.

“What does it matter if it causes a tiny bit of damage to the outer frame. Surely if—“

Voices drone on from the distance, fluctuating between high and low volume.

“This faction claims a pacifist approach, we cannot sell…”

“—again, no selling. By Primus you hardly listen…”

Two red lights flickered alive within Soundwave’s angled visor, correcting itself to the contrast and depth of the room. Remnants of electricity bounced throughout his complex, unable to seek ground in his metallic frame. This invasive feeling stretched from his middle towards the touchpads of his digits, leaving him without semblance of rest despite his short time offline.

The room itself failed to come into focus. The lens of his optics dilated and thinned in rhythm to the throbbing pain ruling his helm. Each pulse of pain triggered another adjustment within his vision, forcing the cycle to start anew. Oh, and the noise. The Primus-forsaken noise that trailed him like his shadow every waking nanosecond of his life: the percussion of beating sparks, clicking digits, the ever so quiet squeal of un-oiled joints performing the slightest action. Gaining control over this unique aspect of himself require the most effort overall, which was unfortunately outside of his grasp.

“Quit being so negative. You’re worse than Star Saber,” that tinny voice of Mesothulas came into focus, ostentatious as per usual. He stood at the forefront of some podium meters away, arms waving wide in gesticulation over the top of it. “If — and that is a big ‘if’ — the Autobots do not want this machine, then I know for certain there are sub-factions within the Primacy that will.”

Standing to his left was the imposing blue figure of Dai Atlas, arms postured behind himself, standing at parade rest. A notably odd gesture for a scientist bot, at least of what Soundwave assumed of him. “The Autobots are under new management. A spineless one at that. He would never want such a thing; would probably deem it too cruel,” he says.

A beat of silence from the shorter compatriot here, either offended at the logic or taking into account the advice being posed to him.

Flicking his wrist dismissively, Mesothulas made a noise of indifference,” leaders are charismatic talking points. Underneath them is a legion of moving parts. That is what we should be interested in. All of those blue-optic bots surely cannot be truly united in pacifist thinking here— someone will bite. Whenever the Decepticons decide to ramp up the ramifications and start pushing their opposition into tight corners, a sort of ‘revenge’, if you will- will surely brew in someone.”

“If Crystal City isn’t burned to rubble by the time the Autobots start feeling indignant, sure,” Dai Atlas retorts.

“That’s precisely why this damned thing sits so far into substrata metal,” Mesothulas clicks his glossa, growing impatient with the witty quips,” Crystal City could be re-paved into a landing pad tomorrow and this fraggin’ machine will persist. It is made to last with the most expensive materials between all 13 slagging planets in our galaxy.”

He pauses, thoughtfully.

“And, if the consequences truly are so dire and fatal, then we won’t be around for it to matter anyways. So! Please, my liege, let’s have some confidence here. A business mindset, perhaps? Crystal City doesn’t have the donors and sponsors to pay for itself anymore.”

Both bots squared their frames towards each other, fully engaged in what was probably one of the many petty arguments to be had over this.

Had Soundwave been in the healthy disposition he was in prior to all the unnecessary abuse, he would have found himself bothered by such rhetoric, but alas, he was only another victim to their thoughtless endeavors. As all bots were under Functionalism. He wasn’t anything special.

While the two of them were distracted with each other, Soundwave glanced around the room, seeking a potential exit.

It would be too obvious to fan out his wavelength to echo within the chamber. Not that he had to. Immediately, he noticed the lack of reverberation from beneath him, above him, all around him. This cavernous emptiness enveloped him, like he was sitting in an open pocket with a metal frame. Should he release from these restraints, there was no telling how far he will drop.

A last chance option.

As if there were any other options.

The loss of energon left him with limited mobility, hardly enough strength to tighten his servos into fists. But, he had to push through. If he doesn’t, there won’t even be circuitry to salvage.

His arms were joined at the wrists with a circular cuff over each one. A plain metal band with magnetic locks on the table, immutable to the shape of him. Seemed cheap for what was supposedly expensive containment. But, he’ll give credence to the fact that the magnetic binding was strong, near welding the cuffs down into the table without so much a budge on the shape when pushed.

He’d have to saw through his thumb-digits to free from it.

Mustering the courage, mind teetering towards irrational, Soundwave hooked the plating where his thumb-digit met the side of his servo and locked it against the edge of the cuffs. In a twisting, pulling motion, he fixed the cuff into the seam where his thumb met his wrist, prying into it until the metal bows and peels back from the connective proto-alloy that glued the plate to his dermal circuitry.

Heat took to his arms. His complex vibrated with pain and resistance, down to the metal on his servos refusing to pry back from his frame With much of his body compromised from lacking resources, flipping off the warning pings and diagnostics was easy, leaving his vision to split into a tricolor aberration; refracting and re-aligning with the flow of discomfort. Energon flooded the entry point of the cuff, lubricating the soft metal against the restraint as it started to saw through the first layer of nerve-wiring.

“Hey, you — ah? Hey! What are you doing!?” Mesothulas shouted across the room.

All focus was gone, Soundwave’s throat betraying him with a low hiss and wheeze, unable to prevent his vents from locking and clicking under duress.

“You wake your pretty self up and don’t even give us a gracious ‘good morning’? Some manners you have, sir,” Mesothulas shoved himself ahead of Dai Atlas, who’s facial plates were locked in a permanent scrunch of disdain and disapproval of the other.

Soundwave paused momentarily to consider Mesothulas, his mouth dropping open with nothing to behold other than static. Between the restraining collar and electricity prod, he seemed to have fried his low-grade vocal box. He clicks his denta, flexing the wires around his vocal box once again to produce any sort of noise back at his assailant.

Humored by this discovery, Mesothulas chirped a little click-whistle of laughter. Absolutely tickled by Soundwave’s pathetic attempts at both insult and freedom. All the grandiose accumulating in that lithe, bland beige body veiled over his frame language; shoulders high, nose higher. His arms hugged himself at the middle, unable to contain his laughter.

“HA! Ha ha ha- Here I thought Megatron kept you around for your competence, but I’m seeing now he kept you around for the absolute joke that is your stupidity,” the scientist hummed, pressing his palms into the control panel and leaning dangerously forward over all the levers and bright buttons that did Primus knows what. “Haven’t you thought for a moment to look around you, my dear? You cut those restraints and drop from that platform, you’re going to experience flight for the first time in your insignificant lowly life.”

Ignoring the grandstanding, Soundwave continues to work through his anatomy, this high-pitched siren noise flooding into his audials. It contests against all the ambiance of this structure and all the occupants above, but it certainly did wonders droning out that squeal of metal squawking before him. Though, he pauses at the mention of flight, Thundercracker entering his mind in brief flashes. The terror bright in his red optics, the awkward turn of his wings, the shape of his mouth when he begged— it pitted in Soundwave’s center how he failed him. He wondered if he was safe, if he escaped, or if he was split in several pieces prettily packaged for profit.

Once again, he must turn inward and care for himself. He would be of no use to anyone, especially not Thundercracker, if he does not escape.

Save for the fact that he cannot view behind himself, he was completely ignorant to this enormous machine he stood center of. An architecture so large that it could serve as supporting pillars to the cavern that is this room. It looked no different than the inner ring of a ship engine and with about as many sliding gears within.

A new feeling emerged from beneath all the frame-paralyzing pain: fear.

Fear of the unknown and the uncertainty of it. That harrowing feeling of being dwarfed by a machine this large and the sheer overkill it would be to impose it on a single bot.

The cruelty of it was chilling most of all and Soundwave couldn’t fathom it.

“You should be honored, you know,” Mesothulas said.

Soundwave refuses to look at him, helm tidally locked on the behemoth of machinery around him. Annoyed, Mesothulas continues as no other voice ruled over the room such as his.

“This has been the project of the century. Jhiaxus’ Magnum Opus. You uneducated bot can understand that, right? The ‘Great Work’; the apex of his knowledge. All that work packed together into this bulking, oversized spark grinder.”

For all that pining, planning, and marketing, Mesothulas didn’t seem to take much pride in this thing.

Soundwave coughed another soundbite of static, defaulting his dialect to native Kaon, a grating sound of sliding metal and hard clicks, just to speak his piece. [It is not your project.]

“What are you implying, Decepticon?” Mesothulas narrowed his optics, more suspicious then offended.

[You conclude the success of this project. Mesothulas: will never attain notoriety. Posthumous reward for Jhiaxus] said Soundwave.

“Posthumous- what? You-” Mesothulas stumbles over his words, unable to keep his thoughts straight between the bleak insult and this. With heavy vent, all that jovial mirth drops from Mesothulas’ masked countenance,” Jhiaxus is not dead.”

No denial for anything else, it seems.

[His ‘Magnum Opus’, yet you’re using it— selling it. Observation: could not be more obvious.]

Dai Atlas drills his stare hard into Soundwave with that immutable scowl before directing his line of sight towards Mesothulas. Having sidelined hard away from his original line of thinking, Mesothulas grows callous by the minute while he gathers his thoughts.

From between a thin snarl,” okay, I will give that to you, Decepticon, but don’t get any funny ideas in that rotting metal skull of yours.”

The tension thickens within the room as resounding silence blankets both the grunt intellect and the forefathers of this torture device. Crystal City’s leader bores his optics through Mesothulas, who only then turns to meet his gaze with equal resent.

“I didn’t kill him!” he snaps at Dai Atlas, not concerned with Soundwave anymore.

“You forwarded me his documentation of his sabbatical,” Dai Atlas snaps back, deep and commanding, the blind trust and friendship he shared with this newly elected lead scientist was being replaced with disappointment instead.

“I falsified it! So what! You and all your annoying pen pushers in this damn place would have taken all his good work and shoved it on the back shelf had you all known the truth!” Mesothulas anchors himself forward, cutting his servo through the space between them. “Everything he has and owned brought glory to this city. The patents alone could fund it for the next 250 stellar cycles! You already shown that to me whenever I put the work into fixing this thing and advertising it to all the potential stakeholders out there.”

The taller mech held his thought, lips pursing into a thin line. At the crossroads of leadership and duty, Dai Atlas found himself at an impasse.

“We,” Mesothulas jabs a digit at him then points to himself,” can discuss it later, but if we don’t do something with this blue ache, we will have every Decepticon at our doorstep by morning.”

Without much to defy, Dai Atlas relents,” fine. Show me the guilt of this Decepticon.”

“They’re all guilty,” Mesothulas mutters.

Returning to the panel, Mesothulas places his hand on the lever, gripping it within his purple servo. He stares at Soundwave. All those accusations from earlier rattling in his mind. If proven successful, Jhiaxus would get all the credit, leaving Mesothulas to remain in a long line of minor contributors. And, if Dai Atlas changes his mind, then Mesothulas will reap no benefits of all.

Slag it, that accursed bot.

“What are you waiting for?”

A new unfiltered voice speaks with the introduction of a claw overlaying Mesothulas’.

The trembling within the scientist’s purple digits cease momentarily, his frame still from confusion of what he assumed Dai Atlas touching him. He’s never touched him. From the moment of contact, he turned helm to shove that meddling mech off only to be met with that energon-tinted glass chest and single ghoulish optic staring with insouciance down at him.

Their optics meet, flitting past each other, before Shockwave yanks down on the handle, effectively turning on the machine before Mesothulas had any opportunity to change his mind.